


Unattainable Desires

by RCs Many Posts (Parker4131970)



Category: due South
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-06 01:27:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 27,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1839355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parker4131970/pseuds/RCs%20Many%20Posts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What makes Inspector Thatcher so cold? What past trauma keeps her emotionally distant? Can Ben coax her out? Can he extend his own heart that far?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wikipedia articles are my friend, but I did go heavy on the creative license with this one. It's based on Sensate Focusing.
> 
> PS. Read and review with kindness as I try to do the same. Drop me a line, let me know what you think.

_To be trusted is a greater compliment than to be loved._

_George MacDonald- The Marquis of Lossie_

 

_**Canadian Consulate, Chicago, Illinois-Monday Morning,** _

 

Meg walked into the consulate, her lips drawn tight and her dark eyes troubled. Constable Turnbull saw the sinister expression on her face and picked up the ringing telephone without greeting her. Constable Fraser and his half-wolf, Diefenbaker, walked in behind her. He saw the glint of fear in Turnbull's light eyes and kept silent.

“Inspector Thatcher, you have a call on line one.” The junior officer stood up straight, swallowing hard.

“Thank you, Constable.” After hanging her umbrella on the coat tree she stepped quickly into her office. Unshed tears rolled down her cheeks as she picked up the handset. Meg knew who was on the other end before she heard his voice.

“Hello,” She wiped the tears away, trying to stay strong.

“I understand, Jeremy, last night was, I was tired.” Meg hadn't been tired. Four months of dating and it was their first night together. It hadn't gone as she'd hoped. The dysfunction she'd been living with since she was sixteen had reared it's ugly head. Meg thought she'd worked her way through it years ago. Stress at the consulate and anticipation had been her undoing.

“Have a good day, I'll talk to you later, bye.” Meg hung up knowing that Jeremy wouldn't call back. They were over.

 _“His loss then.”_ Meg thought to herself as she took a deep breath and banished her tears. A day's work at the consulate would take her mind off her problem.

***

Constable Benton Fraser sat at his desk working on his daily report on the typewriter. He hammered away quickly, his dextrous fingers typing ninety words a minute. Next would come the weekly report, due at the end of the day. Thankfully, it had been an uneventful week for the Mountie. Undercover Ray had been out with the flu for the last three days. Fraser had taken him lentil soup and made sure the fridge was stocked with microwave dinners. Ray thanked him then as politely as Ray ever was, ran the hovering Mountie off.

“Are you certain that's the way you spell 'surveillance' ?” Robert Fraser asked, peering over his son's shoulder. Ben put an O in the middle of the disputed word.

“Dad, how many times must I tell you not to pop in like that, it's disconcerting.” Ben groused, pulling a bottle of correction fluid out of his desk drawer.

“What's the point of being a ghost if you can't pop in on people. No one else can see me, remember?” The apparition shook his head as he continued to peer over Ben's shoulder.

“You've also misspelled 'Sergeant'.” The older Mountie pointed to the paper securely rolled around the typewriter.

“That's how Mrs. Sargent spells her name, Dad.” Ben waved his finger away. “Don't you have somewhere else to be, Dad?” The younger Mountie turned to his father. Sometimes he wondered if his father would have been this annoying had they worked together when he was alive.

“No, nowhere at all, son.”

Ben turned to give his father an exasperated look. The phone rang, interrupting the father-son stare down. Ben looked at the loud contraption.

“Ah, the Inspector, that's my cue to leave.” The old man disappeared before Ben could answer. Confused, he answered the phone on the second ring.

“Constable Fraser, come to my office please.” Inspector Thatcher hung up abruptly. With the report still in the typewriter and the correction fluid out, Ben scooted back from his desk to leave.

***

Meg paced the length of her desk, rethinking her decision. Taking a week's vacation on such short notice was extreme. She couldn't let her dysfunction rule her, she had to take time off to regroup and unwind. She couldn't with Constable Benton Fraser in sight and Turnbull in the building. One distracted her and the other frustrated her.

Fraser's quick knock on the door brought Meg back to the present.

“Come in.” She called, uncrossing her arms and straightening her suit jacket. Fraser stepped through the door, his blue eyes scanning the office and landing on her. For a split second, Meg wondered if he could see her anxiety; if he could read her mind.

Ben took in Inspector Thatcher's pensive expression and the lack of any other official presence before coming to stand in his usual position before her desk. He met her gaze expectantly.

“Constable Fraser, I'm taking a week's vacation, for personal reasons. You will be responsible for maintaining the consulate in my absence. I've had Turnbull reschedule all the major consular events. It should be a fairly simple task to keep things ship shape around here. If you should need anything, you have my cell phone number, I expect you _not_ to use it. Are there any questions?” She bit the inside of her lip to keep from fidgeting.

“No, Sir, enjoy your time off.” To himself, Ben thought it curious that she would take a week off out of the blue. He knew she'd had a date the night before; he'd picked up her cocktail dress on Friday afternoon. From the crease between her brows and the way she bit at the inside of her bottom lip, he deduced that her absence wasn't a happy one. Trouble swirled in her dark eyes, a hint of tears on her cheeks.

“Make certain that the consulate is exactly the way I left it when I return on Monday morning.” Meg wagged her finger at him, her tone sharp.

“Yes, Sir.” A moment later Inspector Thatcher dismissed him. With his efficient stride, Ben was out the door before Meg thought to tell him one last bit of information.

“I'm taking the afternoon off.” She stood framed in her office door, the morning sun casting a mellow gold around her. In her cream suit, she looked heavenly. Ben simply nodded his understanding before continuing to his office.

“That inspector of yours has something troubling her. I've seen that look before.” Robert Fraser waylaid his son, starting the conversation as soon as he opened the office door.

“What look, Dad?” Ben asked to humor the ghost.

“It reminds me of the way my favorite sled dog looked after I took him to the veterinarian to be neutered.” The old man stood with his hands behind his back, head tilted upward.

“What does that mean?” Fraser sat down at his typewriter, taking the tiny correction fluid brush out and dabbing at his error.

“I knew I should have had the birds and the bees talk with you instead your grandmother. She gave you a book, didn't she.” Robert Fraser shook his head, his Stetson brim bobbing.

“I don't have time for riddles, Dad.” Ben waved his father off, trying to distract himself from the sight of Inspector Thatcher, golden light streaming in around her, highlighting her slender frame.

“She's sexually frustrated, son. She needs someone who knows how to take charge, how to kiss her until she's breathless.” The older Mountie came out with it bluntly.

“Dad!” Ben exclaimed incredulously.

“The truth will stand when the world's on fire, that's what your grandmother always said.” Robert Fraser pointed one of his beefy fingers at the younger man, his light blue eyes shining devilishly.

“How do you know, Dad?” Ben set his correction fluid back in the desk drawer, keeping his voice low so as not to draw attention.

“It's amazing what you overhear when you're a ghost.” The old man shrugged, examining a picture of Ottawa's skyline on the wall across from Ben's desk.

“Eavesdropping, Dad?” Ben shook his head, ignoring his father's previous admission.

“You never say anything interesting. You may as well be the one in limbo.” Robert Fraser gestured with his hands, his light eyes sparkling. Ben groaned and began ignoring his father.

***

 


	2. Tuesday

_**Tuesday** _

Ray had begun feeling better after days of eating chicken soup, drinking Aka Seltzer Cold every four hours and lying on the couch. He was ready to get back on the mean streets of Chicago, he just wasn't mean enough to get off the couch just yet. Fraser checked on the undercover detective during his lunch hour, leaving Diefenbaker for Turnbull's company.

“You've had an easy week, haven't you, Fraser, me and the Dragon Lady both gone.” Ray grinned as he sat on the couch in his pajamas, eating delivery pizza with root beer.

“It has in deed been a quiet week, Ray.” The Mountie agreed. Boredom and Constable Turnbull were both about to drive him crazy.

“I'll be back to liven things up come Monday.” Ray pulled off a long strand of cheese wound it around his finger.

“As will Inspector Thatcher.” Fraser began sorting the utensils in Ray's kitchen drawer as he put away the dishes he washed the day before.

“Wonder what her _'personal reasons'_ were for taking off outta the blue like that?” Ray wondered, setting the dark brown bottle on the coffee table on the pizza box cardboard.

“She didn't volunteer and I didn't enquire.” Ben shrugged. He'd been wondering the same thing. He hoped it wasn't something troubling.

“Inspector Thatcher hasn't called to check on the consulate as she's done in the past.”

“Ah, she's probably just off on some beach, watchin' guys play volleyball, tannin' the tatas.” Ray guessed.

“Yes, perhaps she is relaxing somewhere.” Fraser agreed, though not totally convinced.

“Don't worry, Miss Cranky Pants will turn up in a day or two.” The detective sneezed, running his nose across his sleeve.

“I'm sure she will, Ray.” Ben checked his watch, calculating the time remaining on his lunch break.

“I have to leave, Ray, let me know if you need anything else.” The Mountie collected his Stetson before leaving.

“See ya later, buddy.” Ray waved from the couch, sipping his root beer.

***

Meg hailed a cab and gave the driver directions to the therapist's office. She'd been paying through the nose for intensive sessions. She still didn't feel any less anxious. If anything, she felt more nervous and aggravated. All the talking and breathing techniques weren't helping. The thought of being intimate with a man still brought back bad memories.

The Gemini cab pulled up to the curb just outside the building. Meg paid the fare and gathered her purse. Stepping out, she looked around, hoping to slip into the sex therapist's office unnoticed.

***

Fraser walked briskly down the sidewalk, intent on his destination. People walked causally down the sidewalk. Not many of them paid attention to the tall, handsome figure in a Stetson hat and bright red uniform. It wasn't the strangest thing they'd seen in the course of their day.

Cars trickled past in the midday rush. Ben watched as a familiar figure stepped gracefully out of a cab down the street. Her chocolate brown hair and confident stride betrayed her identity. Before Ben could move, she'd strode across the sidewalk and opened the door leading to a main lobby for several services; taxes, lawyers, accountants and a medical group. The Mountie picked up the pace to catch her.

“Inspector Thatcher!” Fraser's clear voice rang out as he approached.

Meg winced. He was the last person she wanted to see. She didn't know whether to hurry inside as if she didn't hear him or wait for him to approach. Finally, she decided to wait.

“Constable Fraser, hello.” Meg greeted him crisply. She tucked a stray strand of her dark hair behind her ear.

“Inspector, hello, how are you?” The Mountie studied the petite woman from head to toe.

“I'm fine, thank you for asking. If you'll excuse me, I have an appointment.” Meg prayed he wouldn't ask questions.

“With whom, Sir?”

Meg sagged a bit, wishing she could disappear into the crevice in the sidewalk.

“The tax service.” She answered with the first service she saw on the placard inside the lobby.

“Ah, I see, did I fail to do them correctly this year?” Ben thought back to her shoe box full of receipts and forms.

 _“Damn it!”_ She thought. “I have an appointment with Dr. Caston.”

Ben turned his head slightly to the left, confusion on his face. Why would she blatantly lie to him like that?

“She's a specialty therapist if you must know.” Meg grew defensive, her tone gruff.

Ben had heard of Dr. Caston at the precinct. She treated sex offenders sent to her by the court system.

“I see.” Ben nodded, ducking his head before he could meet the Inspector's eye again.

“I shouldn't have said anything.” Meg spoke sourly, staring at one of the heavy, cement planters along the sidewalk. She wished she could burrow into one of the fifty gallon containers full of potting soil and petunias.

“I should be getting back to the consulate, Constable Turnbull goes on sentry duty at one o'clock.” Fraser turned to the practical for lack of anything else to say.

“Yes, he does.” Meg nodded, pulling together her professional mask.

Ben turned to walk away, uncomfortable with the Inspector's outburst. Where she went and what she did was her business. Why she felt the need to inform him was a stumper.

“Constable Fraser,” Meg called, her mask crumbling around the edges.

Ben turned, his expression neutral. The anxiety in the Inspector's dark eyes spoke for her.

“I would be,” Meg paused, dreading to say the second part of her sentence, “I would be most grateful for your discretion.” She felt her insides shaking. Meg Thatcher did not like having too much personal information in the hands of subordinates. It gave them leverage. Loss of control was out of the question.

“Understood, Sir.” Fraser nodded, tugging at his ear lobe. He watched the Inspector sashay into the building, her head held high. She wore armor, just like he did. Instead of the red serge, she wore her position and dignity.

***

Meg slumped against the back wall of the large elevator taking her to Dr. Caston's office. She felt nauseous and shaky. For years she'd been dealing with this dysfunction; this curse. Hours of therapy had helped but it would never be completely cured. This severe flare up gripped Meg, keeping her awake and bringing back bad memories and nightmares.

The elevator stopped at the fourth floor and slid open lazily. A flower design in the tile floor accented the marbled, mauve and mint wallpaper. Gold sconces lit the small space just before Dr. Caston's office doors. After a deep breath, Meg opened the door and walked up to the receptionist.

“I have a one o'clock appointment with Dr. Caston.” Meg spoke low as she signed in on the clip board to the right of the desk.

“Have a seat, she'll be with you in a moment.” The receptionist pointed to the empty waiting room of leather covered chairs and a cherry coffee table. A potted palm stood in one corner and a television in the other. Meg held her purse close as she sat down in the empty waiting room. She stared at the pastel wall across from her, thinking back to what had just happened with Constable Fraser.

“Ms. Thatcher.” The receptionist called a moment later. Meg popped up, startled into action.

***

Jeanette Caston was an older woman with a cheerful but professional demeanor. She pushed her wire frame glasses up with a small, delicate hand as Meg entered.

“Hello, Meg, come into the office.” Dr. Caston lead her to her therapy room at the end of the hall. The muted light and soothing color scheme helped most patients relax. A desk top water fountain of an ethereal fairy pouring water into a well sat on one corner of the L shaped, cherry desk.

“What's going on, Meg, you seem distressed? Did you follow my advice last night?” Dr. Caston took her usual spot in an arm chair across from an identical chair where Meg sat.

“Yes, but that's not why I'm upset.” Meg set her purse out of her lap and began wringing her hands. “I ran into Constable Fraser on the sidewalk just before I came upstairs.”

“Tell me about the encounter.” Dr. Caston prompted, notebook in hand.

***


	3. Tuesday Continued

_**Tuesday Continued ….** _

Fraser walked slowly back to the consulate, thinking. He was glad Diefenbaker had decided to keep Turnbull company for a change. The old wolf asked too many questions and stated too many absurd observations. Ben needed to be able to think about the Inspector objectively. That in itself was a conundrum. How could he think objectively about a woman whose mere scent put his senses on high alert? One of her smiles, whether directed at him or not, made his mind go blank. When she wore red, it shot the whole day.

 _“The Inspector and I have chemistry, that's clear enough. Neither of us can bridge the gap between us. There shouldn't be a gap between us in the first place.”_ Ben's thoughts ran in circles around his brain. The distress in her eyes and the tremble in her voice wouldn't go away.

 _“Gap be damned.”_ He finally decided as he pulled his Stetson off and hung it on the coat tree in his home/office.

“Constable Fraser, Diefenbaker destroyed the leather golf gloves Inspector Thatcher bought for her superior's birthday present.” Turnbull marched through Fraser's open office door carrying a pair of white, leather gloves, one of them shredded. The junior Mountie's face was nearly red enough to match his serge. Diefenbaker slunk in behind him, his head down and tail drooping. He sat down beside Turnbull, amber eyes pleading for leniency.

“A new pair is coming out of your savings account, no arguments.” Fraser stood up, looking sternly down at the white wolf. Dief seemed to slouch in resignation.

“Constable Turnbull, would you kindly find the receipt and order a new pair, I'll take care of the bill.”

Turnbull nodded, eying the wolf distastefully before leaving the office. Dief snorted spitefully in return.

“One of these days you are going to have to learn to control yourself.” Ben began. Dief rolled his eyes and laid down to listen to the lecture he knew was coming.

***

Meg left Dr. Caston's office feeling better, but not much. The doctor had given her a frank assessment of the situation between the lady Mountie and her subordinate. It wasn't anything Meg didn't know, but hearing someone else say it left a sour taste in her mouth. Hiding behind position and protocol felt easier than owning up to her feelings.

At home, Meg finished up the spring cleaning she'd been doing around her apartment. There wasn't much left. Still, it helped calm her nerves and kill time until Constable Turnbull's shift ended and he would go home. At three o'clock, Meg called Constable Fraser's extension, after staring at her phone for fifteen minutes, dreading it.

“Constable Fraser speaking,” He greeted her blandly.

“Fraser, this is Inspector Thatcher, I was wondering if you had plans for after work this evening, there's something we need to discuss.” She maintained her professional tone, making it sound like ordinary consular business.

“I told Ray I would watch hockey with him, but I can cancel.” Fraser volunteered.

Meg almost told him to go on about his business, that it wasn't a pressing matter. If there was one thing Margaret Thatcher, RCMP Inspector wasn't, was a chicken.

“I'll be there about five o'clock.” They hung up a moment later.

_**Two Hours Later ….** _

It took extra time for Meg to make her way through rush hour traffic in the Windy City. She made certain that Turnbull wasn't on sentry duty before walking up the steps and into the foyer. Fraser's head popped out of his door at the sound of her feet on the hardwood flooring. She wore a pair of dock shoes, khaki pants and a button down, printed blouse. Small, gold studs in her ears and eye liner were her only accoutrements. The whole effect shaved a decade off of her age.

“Constable, good evening.” She greeted him with a nod.

“Inspector Thatcher, hello, would you like to go into your office for the meeting?” Fraser held a yellow legal pad in one hand and an ink pen in the other.

Meg looked from her office to his open door. Neither place seemed appropriate for the conversation she'd come to have.

“I'd like some coffee, perhaps the kitchen would be a good place.” The lady Mountie stepped forward, heading down the hall toward the kitchen in the back of the building. Fraser followed along, perplexed.

Meg dropped her purse on the small, round table off to one side of the kitchen. She took her time pouring the water, measuring the coffee and gathering the sugar and mugs. Her hands shook slightly and she squinted at the black machine sitting on the counter top. Fraser stood at the table, watching her.

“Have a seat, Fraser, this isn't a consular meeting.” Meg turned to find him still standing, perfect neutrality on his face. With a nod, he took the seat facing her. She turned back to the table a few minutes later carrying two mugs of steaming coffee. Creamer and sugar already sat in the center.

“I was surprised when I saw you outside of Dr. Caston's office this afternoon. I spoke harshly.” Meg admitted, working up to the difficult part. Fraser waited patiently, sitting silently, his hands folded on the legal pad beside his coffee.

“You may have heard of Dr. Caston, she's a sex therapist who works with patients sent to her through the court system. I've been seeing her since I arrived in Chicago.” Meg took a sip of her coffee, stalling. “I received a call yesterday from, ah, from a suitor, someone I've seen off and on since arriving in the US. He's a genuinely nice guy, unlike so many I've met.” She avoided eye contact with Fraser. His blue eyes saw too much as it was. “We had a lovely evening, dinner, the theater and a glass of very expensive wine. When we arrived at my apartment I invited him inside. Things soon became in …. intimate. I couldn't. I failed.” Meg took a sip of her coffee to hide her shaking hands and shuddering breath. She felt Fraser's gaze lingering. Why hadn't he ran by now?

Ben sat silently, contemplating what Inspector Thatcher had told him. She'd revealed more about herself in five minutes than in all the months they'd worked together. He saw a side of her he'd only glimpsed; her vulnerability.

“You aren't to blame.” Ben said quietly after a moment of consideration.

“Aren't I? I'm ashamed to call myself a woman.” Meg sat her coffee down, her hands clasped around the ceramic mug with a red, maple leaf on a white background.

Ben remembered his father's words from Monday. _“Kiss her until she's breathless.”_ She needed help; someone she could trust.

Meg heard Ben's chair scoot on the linoleum, his elbows came to rest on his knees as he studied his boots for a moment before raising his head. She saw a look of resolution mixed with concern.

“I have a proposition for you, a proposal if you will.” That didn't sound any better. “A suggestion.” Ben tried again. “Allow me to help you. I know several relaxation techniques that would be quite helpful.”

“Fraser, I don't need relaxation techniques, I need to get laid.” Meg blurted out, scowling at him. She felt heat rising in her face. She shifted in her chair, arms crossed.

“Inspector, you have my word of honor that these techniques will help you become comfortable with intimacy again.” Ben's blue eyes never wavered from her brown ones.

Meg had never known him to make a promise he didn't keep. She felt her resolve beginning to slip. Dr. Caston had told her that going outside her comfort zone, pushing herself, would be good.

“Can I trust you, Fraser?” Meg asked, a flicker of hope in her dark eyes.

“Yes, implicitly.” He stated simply, the laugh lines around his eyes appearing as he smiled.

***

 


	4. Wednesday Morning

_**Wednesday Morning** _

“Mother, I don't want to go to school.” Meg groused as she slowly roused from a dream about the first day of her tenth year. She could feel the braces on her teeth even though they'd been gone for years.

“Inspector.” The familiar male voice called Meg out of her dream and into reality. Sitting up, she ran her fingers through her silky hair and shoved her feet into her fuzzy, red slippers. She didn't bother to put on a robe, she wore an oversized tee shirt nightgown that hung past her knees.

“Just a minute, Fraser.” She groused and groaned a few, choice, French words under her breath. When she threw open the front door she saw an eager Fraser dressed in civilian clothes; a pair of boots, well fitting Wranglers and a maroon sweater beneath his leather jacket. For once he wasn't wearing his trademark Stetson, but he did carry a latte from her favorite cafe.

“Come in, I'll be ready in a few minutes.” Meg took the latte from him and proceeded toward her bedroom in the rear of the apartment. She heard the front door close softly and Fraser's boots on the kitchen tile. He would gravitate to a safe, neutral room, wouldn't he, she thought.

“Is this going to be professional dress or casual?” Meg called from the bedroom, her door cracked open.

“Casual, I would recommend a pair of walking shoes.” He didn't call her 'Sir' or 'Meg'.

“Okay, jeans and tennis shoes it is.” Meg muttered to herself, pulling out a comfortable pair of jeans, a white camisole and an ocean blue blouse of light cotton. Ten minutes later she'd dressed and brushed her teeth, almost ready to leave.

“What's the weather like today?” Meg asked, just to make conversation. It felt odd to have Fraser in her apartment, he'd only ever stepped in long enough for her to gather her purse before driving her to a consular function.

“It's beautiful; clear, blue skies, 80 degrees Fahrenheit and a light breeze off the lake called Michigan.” Ben informed her, looking at her apartment's décor. It was all dark colors with black enamel accents. Only one framed photograph hung in the living room or the kitchen, a black and white family portrait of the Inspector when she was about fourteen. The other worldly quality he saw in her everyday stood out in the portrait, her dark eyes wide and curious.

“Mother, Father and myself.” Meg's voice pulled Ben out of his thoughts.

“You appear to have a happy family.” Ben remarked, wishing his parents were still alive.

“We were all very good actors.” Meg responded dryly. “Is this suitable?” She asked, referring to her clothes and changing the subject.

“Yes. Shall we?” He stood up, depositing his paper coffee cup in the trash.

Meg followed Fraser's lead, allowing him to open doors for her and hail a cab. She also had to wait while he hailed a woman on a walker's cab, a pregnant woman's cab and exchanged Mandarin greetings with a Chinese delivery guy. She looked at him in surprise when he told the cab driver to take them to the zoo.

“Part of the exercise, I assure you.” He answered, his thumb toying with his jacket's zipper. He missed his Stetson.

“I haven't had the opportunity to go to the zoo in Chicago. I admire the lions.” Meg let a small smile play across her lips, thinking back to her childhood and the hours she spent watching the polar bears and lions.

“Diefenbaker visits with the wolves and the snowshoe rabbits. They remind him of home.” Ben twiddled his thumbs, trying to remain calm. Meg sat close enough for him to smell her unique scent; the scent that had been driving him crazy for months.

“Your wolf does seem to have a personality all his own. He has a very expressive face.” Meg thought back to all the times she'd caught the pair in conversation.

“Yes, he does, he's terrible at poker, he can't tell a heart from a diamond.” Meg didn't know whether he was joking or being serious. She didn't respond, except for a few quizzical blinks.

“Wolves are colorblind, although there is debate as to how much.” Ben gestured, “Also, it's hard to hold a hand of cards without a thumb.” That made Meg smile. The joke hadn't gone over as he'd hoped, but still, she seemed to enjoy the effort.

The cab driver shook his head as he listened to his passengers' conversation.

“Here's the zoo, like you asked.” The driver turned to collect his fare. Fraser pulled money from inside jacket pocket and paid the man.

“This ain't the right color, Mister.” He shoved it back at Fraser.

“Oh dear, I'm afraid I haven't had time to have my paycheck exchanged.” Ben searched his other pockets.

Meg pulled her wallet out and supplied the driver with American currency.

“Come on, let's go.” She motioned for Fraser to exit the car, scooting out behind him onto the sidewalk.

“I'm terribly sorry, Sir, I'll ….” Meg held up one hand.

“Fraser, stop right there. Considering what we're undertaking, I'd like you to call me 'Meg' or 'Margaret', if you'd prefer, anything but 'Sir'.” She waited for him to decide.

“Alright, Margaret.” He nodded, meeting her gaze. The wind ruffled her dark locks.

“I'll have to stop by the exchange after we leave the zoo.” Ben noted the satisfied look on Meg's face when he'd spoken her name. He'd longed to say it aloud, to relish the syllables on his tongue.

Together, they walked into the zoo, making their way to the big cats area. Ben gently slipped his hand around Meg's as they walked. The zoo hadn't yet woken completely. No one saw the couple strolling silently down the walkway. Meg looked down at their twined hands.

“What does my hand feel like, Margaret?” Ben asked as he trailed his thumb over her fingers.

“They're warm and a little rough.” She answered with a shrug.

“Part of today's goal is to work on your senses; sight, sound, taste, touch and smell. I want you to try to make one observation using each sense.” Ben pulled their hands up for examination.

It seemed like a pointless exercise to Meg. She didn't see what senses had to do with fixing her problem. She rolled her eyes and started to object, besides, she felt silly.

“Do you trust me?” Ben asked, brows lifted.

“Yes.” She took a deep breath and looked at their hands. “Your hand is a darker shade than mine, I don't think there's anything to hear, your skin is rough, especially your index finger and thumb,” She put the back of his hand to her nose, taking a deep whiff. “I smell soap, dish soap I think.” Next she kissed the back of his hand, the tip of her tongue skimming his skin. The sensation sent tingles allover.

“It tastes a bit salty and a bit like soap. Now are you satisfied?” Meg pursed her lips, one brow lifted.

“Very good, Margaret, your senses play an important roll in how you relate to someone. In the Western world, women spend a great deal of time and money on their appearance, taking cues from prospective mates reaction. You wear well tailored suits to flatter your figure and compliment your complexion, as well as make-up enhancements to hide flaws and accentuate your full lips and thick lashes.”

Meg listened curiously, she hadn't suspected he noticed what she wore. She wanted to present herself as a professional, a positive example of her country and the Force.

Ben's primary goal was to build Margaret's self-confidence. He felt that she needed to know how attractive she was to him and the rest of the heterosexual population of Chicago.

“You've put great thought into this haven't you.” Meg began running her thumb over his knuckles absently.

“Yes, I suppose.” He tugged on his left ear, one of his endearing quirks.

A male lion sunning himself on a bolder let out an impressive roar when a cub tried to sink it's teeth into his tail. The cub just kept gnawing on the end, shaking it's head and pouncing. A lioness came to investigate the noise. She flopped down beside him on the bolder when she saw there was no real threat. After a few minutes more the cub began playing with the female's tail.

Ben and Meg moved on around the rest of the zoo, stopping to discuss whatever met Meg's senses. She was becoming aware of a lot she'd taken for granted; the feel of Ben's leather jacket against her arm, the sound of his boots on the wooden walkway, the various shades of blue in his eyes as well as the scent of soap, leather and his specific, barely perceptible scent.

After visiting just about every animal at the zoo, it was time for lunch. Meg felt apprehensive. What would Fraser do next? What other secrets would he uncover?

“So, what's next?” Meg asked nonchalantly, her free hand shoved down into her khaki pockets as they walked down the sidewalk to the taxi stand on the corner.

“After lunch I'd like to take you on a boat tour of the city.” Fraser answered, still holding Meg's hand. She enjoyed the feel of it.

***

 


	5. Wednesday Continued

_**Wednesday Continued ….** _

For lunch, the off-duty Mounties ate Chicago style pizza and salad on the way to the boat tour. After paying the fare, Meg and Ben took seats in the open air boat. A tour guide gave a short history of all the buildings along the waterfront, the bridges and insights into the history of the city. Chicago's history was long and colorful.

Meg sat on the outside, near the water. Ben leaned in and whispered in her ear,

“It's a beautiful city, isn't it.” His voice vibrated in her ear, sending good chills down her spine. When Meg turned, she was mere centimeters away, his blue eyes peering into hers. The urge to bridge the gap for a kiss was strong.

 _“I can't, I can't lose control.”_ She told herself, turning back to the river and the sun glistening off the ripples sliding past the boat.

“Yes, it is.” Meg answered.

“You're doing the right thing, son, you'll thank me later.” Robert Fraser's voice interrupted Ben's thoughts. The old Mountie sat in the seat ahead of them, turned in the seat to face them. All Ben could do was glare at him and silently beg for him to go away.

“And that concludes the boat tour of Chicago.” The tour guide announced as the captain maneuvered them along side the dock. When Ben looked back to the seat ahead of him, the old man had disappeared.

“Would you like to go for a walk?” Ben asked Meg as they made their way along the sidewalk side-by-side.

“Is this part of the relaxation therapy or a date?” Meg pinned him with a stare.

Ben swallowed hard. “Today has been therapy, but I would be remiss if I said that I haven't enjoyed today with you.” He answered truthfully. Watching her, talking to her freely, Ben wondered if he could ever be satisfied without her.

“Ah, very wise answer, Fraser.” Meg smiled up at him, slipping her hand in his.

“When I spoke of your family this morning, you said that you were very good actors. I take it you didn't have a happy childhood.” Ben prompted, wondering how her past played into her difficulties.

“Until I was fourteen we were the model family; dinner at the table together, weekends at the lake, summer vacations visiting my grandparents. Then my father met a woman and had an affair. He kept it secret for six months, until my mother saw them together at a restaurant, the restaurant where he'd proposed to her. The affair tore our family apart. Mother sank into a deep depression and I became resentful of my father. It was a terrible time in my life.” Meg explained briefly, hoping it would satisfy him.

“I'm sorry, it must have hurt you deeply.” Ben squeezed her hand, genuine sympathy in his eyes.

“It's been ages and ages ago. Mother pulled herself together, Father and I eventually made peace.” Meg stood up straighter, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.

Ben knew the pain of losing a parent, the resentment, the hurt and abandonment. He hadn't understood when his mother died and regretted being unable to spend more time with his father while he lived. He knew Meg's pain firsthand. It explained some of the reason behind her treatment of her subordinates.

After dinner, Ben escorted Meg back to her apartment. The lady mountie set her purse on the coffee table and settled down on the couch. Fraser stood near the door, unsure of himself.

“Have a seat.” Meg offered, studying him. Slowly, he crossed the room and settled into the arm chair.

“So, is today's therapy session over?” Meg asked, a note of wistfulness in her husky voice.

“Yes. Shall we continue tomorrow?” Ben sat with his elbows on his knees.

They agreed on a time for Ben to pick her up. He knew the next part of the therapy session would be the most difficult; the part that he wouldn't forget.

 

_**Thursday** _

The Blackstone Hotel had been a modern hotel and a gem in Chicago's crown when it was built in 1905. It sat like a stately, old gentleman near the heart of the city. Ben had made reservations for a modest suite. Next would come the intimacy part of the relaxation therapy. Meg had been a quick learner when it came to using her senses. Ben hoped to move Meg into a new comfort level. Hopefully, she trusted him enough to let her guard down, to cede control for a change.

Meg had packed a small overnight bag and waited for Ben in the living room. She felt anxious, her mind racing and her stomach tight. Pacing didn't help, coffee made her more jittery and the anticipation was killing her. When the doorbell rang she threw the door open. Ben stood in the hall, surprised.

“Good afternoon, Margaret.” He wore his Stetson and leather jacket, and the jeans he wore made Meg wonder if they were made with him in mind. She felt warmth creeping up her neck.

“Come in, I need to double check my bag.” Meg turned before her entire face felt like a neon sign.

Dressed much the same way as the previous day, Meg bent over to examine her bag sitting on the couch. The khakis she wore fit snugly across her tush. Ben couldn't help himself, very un-Mountie like thoughts took over.

“I'm ready.” Meg straightened up. She noted the guilty way Ben avoided eye contact. Then she remembered she'd been bent over and despite wearing pants, it must have been quite a show.

“Let me grab my light jacket and we'll go.” Meg collected her jacket and went to get her purse and overnight bag but Ben held it. After one last check of the windows and thermostat, Meg locked the door and walked out with Ben at her side. He followed silently, a large, comforting presence behind her.

“Are you nervous?” Ben inquired in the cab. What he had planned, he couldn't actually see himself doing.

“No, I plan on becoming intimate with my subordinate officer every day.” Meg answered sarcastically.

“I thought you would be.” He turned his Stetson in his hands, stopping to run his thumb along the buckle.

“Last night, I thought long and hard about this situation. I don't understand why you would choose to help me. I've given you little besides a hard time.” Meg spoke low, staring straight ahead.

“I've come to understand you much better in the last few days. I simply wish to help.” Ben answered truthfully. He didn't tell her about how deeply he cared or that he wanted to take her pain away. Ben wanted to see Meg happy.

“All out.” The cab driver called as he pulled up to the hotel entrance. Meg paid the fare and scooted out, with Ben's help. The Mountie tipped the driver and thanked him kindly.

“Here we go.” Meg muttered, clutching her overnight bag tightly. The petite brunette stared at the gleaming, spacious lobby through the double doors. Marble tile melted into thick pile, red carpet on the stairs leading to the second floor.

“If you'd rather continue with Dr. Caston, I completely understand, Margaret.” Ben came around to face her. Her dark eyes looked up at him, full of emotion as she tried to keep herself under control.

“I trust you, Fraser. I'm just nervous.”

Instead he heard and unspoken, _“It's_ _ **me**_ _I don't trust.”_

“Allow me to open the door.” Ben took her bag and held the lobby door open for her.

The Blackstone had a laid back attitude. With little fanfare, Ben and Meg went to the suite he'd reserved. Stepping behind the black door, a comfortable room greeted them. The large window, the focal point of the room, overlooked the street beyond the entrance. A maroon and navy printed spread covered the bed. Gauzy, maroon curtains covered the window, navy drapes at either side.

“The designer had simple but elegant taste.” Meg observed, eying the drapes, her back to Ben.

“I was able to check in earlier today, I had hoped you would approve.” Ben's usual, passive tone had crept back in.

“Are you always this thoughtful?” Meg turned to him, her dark eyes curious. Ben stood at the foot of the single bed, his Stetson in hand. She noticed the way he stood so tall.

“Yes, I suppose.” He studied his boots for a minute before bringing his gaze up, his chin still down. It was another one of those sexy things he did that kept Meg's knees feeling like jello.

“How do we proceed, Fraser?” Meg sat down on the side of the bed, rubbing her hands up and down her arms.

“I have read quite a lot on this technique, but ….”

Meg turned on him, eyes wide. “You have no practical experience?” She stepped closer.

“No, I do not.” Ben almost stammered. He began raking his thumb nail across his eyebrow.

Meg closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She knew she should have expected as much. Still, she felt more relaxed than she had in months. She pasted on a calm face and opened her eyes.

 _“What have I got to lose, he already knows so much.”_ Meg thought to herself.

“The focus on this technique isn't the act itself, it's exploration and relaxation. We began the first phase at the zoo yesterday, when we held hands and focused on your senses.” Ben began, worrying his earlobe.

 _“That was sneaky.”_ Meg thought, listening to him quietly from the foot of the bed.

“Often when someone has intimacy difficulties, it stems from low self-esteem,” Meg gave him a distasteful stare, “obviously not the case here, or a traumatic experience,” To that one Ben noted how uncomfortable she became. “and often a physical cause.” He doubted that was the cause of her difficulties.

“I'm to assume the second phase is kissing or what?” All of this sounded familiar from psychology classes Meg had taken.

“At some point, yes, right now the focus is what you find pleasurable from other aspects of bonding; caress, personal interaction and trust.”

“Fraser, you sound like a psychology textbook.” Meg began going through her overnight bag, not really intending to retrieve anything.

“Yes, I suppose I do.” Ben agreed. He sat down on the bed, Meg to his right. Gently, he took her hand out of the bag and set it down on the floor at their feet. Confused, she peered up at him wide eyed.

“Let's talk a moment.” He scooted closer, his gaze tender.

Meg wondered if Fraser could read her mind, if he could see through the years of carefully constructed walls she'd built.

“Please, call me Ben.” He ran his thumb over the inside of her wrist.

“Ben. I never thought I'd get to use your name.” Meg smiled, her head tilted coyly.

“I like to hear you use it.” Ben admitted truthfully, his blue eyes sparkling.

“How do you usually begin an intimate encounter with a gentleman?” He had to remind himself of the task at hand.

“I hadn't really thought about it. Kissing I suppose, then a little groping, clothes being peeled off.” Meg shrugged, stopping there.

“It happens rather fast.” Ben observed, still holding Meg's hand. He traced his thumb over her palm delicately.

“Yes, when it does happen.” She frowned, avoiding his gaze.

“Have you ever just kissed and hugged without having sex?”

“No, well,” Meg bit on her bottom lip a moment. Ben's fingers were distracting her. “I have, but it's been ages.”

“Do you enjoy kissing just for the sake of kissing?” Ben slipped his hand gently up Meg's arm, his fingertips barely skimming her skin.

“Yes, when it's uninterrupted.” They both remembered the passionate kiss they'd shared atop the runaway train during the winter. It was Ben's turn to look away.

“What about you, Ben, do you like to kiss?” Meg felt guilty for stirring up their past mishap.

“Yes, I do.”

“Show me, we aren't likely to have any interruptions here.” Meg indicated the hotel room around them. The door was chain locked to deter company. It was a bold offer, considering their status.

“I had hoped to start off ….”

Meg lifted an annoyed brow and pursed her lips. “I'm not going to ravish you, Ben, it's just a kiss.” She pointed out.

“Alright.” He leaned forward, caressing her cheek with his free hand. The kiss began light at first, his lips molding to hers. Meg found her heart beating hard, wanting to go farther than kissing him. Ben's warm hand slipped into her loose hair, enjoying the feel of her silky locks. He didn't push the kiss far, savoring her lips alone. Eyes closed, he pulled away, leaving Meg reeling from the loss.

“That was nice.” Meg breathed, her eyes drifting open.

“It was, wasn't it.” Ben agreed, leaning his forehead against hers. He was tempted to dive in again.

“Is kissing all we're allowed to do?” Meg asked, taking Ben's lapels gently.

“I'm afraid so.” he answered, feeling the urge to lay her down on the bed and kiss her breathless, his hands in her hair.

“It doesn't sound like much of a bargain for you.” Meg pulled away a bit, twining her fingers with his.

“It isn't about me, Margaret, I'm here to help you.” He shrugged.

“Who helps you, Ben?” She persisted.

“I have everything I need.” He answered, his voice rougher than normal. “There are several other exercises we can move on to.” Ben had shut down.

 _“I don't think you do, Benton Fraser.”_ Meg thought to herself.

Ben cleared his throat, readying himself for the next step, allowing Meg to touch him as she pleased.

“The next step requires us, particularly me, to be somewhat less clothed.” The Mountie began untying his shoes then unbuttoning his shirt.

“Should I disrobe as well?” Meg asked, resisting the juvenile urge to giggle.

“Only if you wish to.” Ben explained that he would allow her touch him in ways that she wished to be touched and found pleasurable. Both of them felt nervous.

Meg began with a shoulder rub, the most neutral place she could think of. She felt the muscles beneath his white wife beater undershirt bunch beneath her fingers as she sat behind him on the bed. One leg dangled over the side of the bed, the other folded beneath her.

“Are you this muscular or this tense?” She talked to break the silence.

“Both, most likely.” Ben moved his head from side to side to ease his shoulders.

“I suppose it's from hours of standing sentry duty each week.” She moved lower, working her hands around his shoulder blades, to his ribs. Ben pulled away, a barked chuckle escaping his throat.

“You're ticklish!” Meg moved to get at his ribs but Ben had clamped his elbows firmly in place. She leaned up on her knee to reach over his shoulders to the front, her breast pressed to his back.

“Please, Stop!” Ben slid off the bed, away from her. He was the one who'd ended up breathless.

“Okay, I'll quit, Mountie's honor.” Meg sat back, her right hand held up and her brown eyes sparkling. Ben nodded resolutely before sitting back down. Her small hands worked wonders on his back, kneading the muscles and easing out the kinks. Ben couldn't help himself, eyes closed, he let out a deep groan. Meg's hands stopped.

“You aren't, um, you aren't,” She couldn't make herself say 'aroused', not to Ben.

“No, I'm fine, please, continue.” He straightened his back.

Meg admired the feel of Ben's broad shoulders, his defined muscles and smooth skin. His hair brushed her knuckles as she kneaded his neck. She eased her fingers into the thick, soft locks. His hair was just to the point of needing cut, curls peeking out behind his ears. This close, she smelled his scent; the scent of soap, mild laundry detergent, leather polish and his faint, male musk.

Ben began reciting the RCMP oath to keep from turning to Meg and taking her in his arms. Her fingertips danced down his neck, to his shoulders and along his arms until they reached his knees. Had he been standing, they would have buckled. He took an extremely deep breath. Meg's hands ceased their path up the outsides of his thighs. He couldn't deny his arousal; the heat rising to his face and the way he had to control his breathing.

“Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, Ben.” Meg drew away. She didn't know if she could continue without tipping the scale in their fragile relationship.

“I've heard you laugh more in the last two days than in all the months you've been assigned to Chicago.” His blue eyes implored her to stay, to keep the faith.

“Maybe we should take a break, get something for dinner.” Meg suggested, her hands clasped in her lap.

“Excellent idea.” Ben gave her one of his rare, dazzling smiles. She would have done anything to see another one. For a moment she was transported back to the day they'd been locked in the egg incubator, after he'd tricked her into believing he'd been shocked. It had been a rare, perfect moment between them. She saw his humor in that moment; something very few people had seen.

“You pick the restaurant.” Meg slapped him lightly on the shoulder as she rose to her feet.

“I know of the best restaurant in Chinatown.” Ben pulled on his shirt and shoved his feet into his boots. He hoped Mr. Li didn't tease him about his Mandarin accent again.

***

 


	6. Thursday Continued

Thursday Continued ….  
After dinner, Ben and Meg strolled through Chinatown hand-in-hand. Ben read the fortune cookies for her. They both laughed when she added 'in bed' to them. For a while, they weren't RCMP officers stationed away from home, they were friends. Around midnight, the pair arrived back at the hotel. Meg kicked off her shoes and laid her light jacket on the bed - the only bed.   
“Oh dear.” She thought to herself. She knew she was supposed to be getting more comfortable with herself as well as other people, but sharing a bed hadn't occurred to her.   
“He's been a gentleman so far, I don't think he'd try anything.” Meg decided.   
Ben rummaged around in the bottom of the dresser and pulled out a sleeping bag and a spare pillow.  
“You're sleeping on the floor?” Meg asked, confusion in her dark eyes.   
“Yes,” He noted the disappointment in her demeanor. “Unless you'd rather I, that I, ….” Ben pointed to the double bed, his free hand digging a trench across his eyebrow.   
“I just assumed,” She shrugged, thinking about the black lace and white satin nightgown she'd packed. Instead, she decided to wear her tee shirt nightgown.   
“Well, I think I'll get a shower.” Meg suppressed a sigh. She dug her nightgown out of her overnight bag and headed toward the bathroom. She didn't look forward to a night alone in that big bed.   
After a long, hot shower and a generous amount of her favorite, vanilla body wash, Meg dried her hair and pulled on her tee shirt gown. In her slipper feet, she padded out into the room they would be sharing for the night. Ben had turned down the bed for her and closed the drapes. A warm glow emanated from the single lamp burning on the bed side table. Glaring, red digits flowed nearly one o'clock in the morning. How many times had Meg seen those numbers, alone in her apartment?   
Ben sat on his sleeping bag, waiting for her. In his red long johns, he cut quite a figure.   
“In the morning I'll call Constable Turnbull and tell him you won't be to work.” Meg put her make-up bag and dirty clothes back in her overnight bag. She sat down on the foot of the bed with a yawn. Looking over at Ben, she wanted to feel his arms around her; wanted to absorb his warmth.   
“Goodnight, Ben.” She spoke softly, crawling beneath the covers.   
“Sweet dreams, Margaret.” She smiled at the sound of his voice saying her name. It sounded so good.   
Ben lay awake after Meg turned off the lamp, listening to Meg breathing. It only took a few minutes for her to be completely asleep. He wondered what it would be like to hold her while she slept. Her vanilla soap scent filled the room, tantalizing the Mountie. She didn't like perfume, but he suspected Meg had brought the vanilla soap just for him. Scent is closely tied to memory. Meg's vanilla reminded Ben of being bound together on a runaway train. He had never freed himself from her unique scent when he'd retrieved the bobby pin from between her breasts. The memory kept him awake at night.   
He lay awake remembering when he heard her begin to tossing violently. Meg's breathing had increased and she kicked the covers away. Ben sat up, unsure of what to do. She called for her mother, calling for help one moment and telling someone to get off of her the next. Before she settled down she begged God for it to stop.   
After a few minutes he heard her crying then her feet hitting the floor on the opposite side of the bed. While she was in the bathroom, Ben turned the bed side lamp on and took the seat at the foot of her bed.   
“Did I wake you, I'm sorry.” Meg stared across the room at Ben, the light from the bathroom behind her. Still, he could see she'd been crying.   
“I hadn't fallen asleep yet.”   
Meg turned the bathroom light off and slowly crossed the room. She didn't want to discuss her nightmares or the reason for them. She didn't want Ben to know what had happened to her, what had been haunting her for so long.  
“Is there anything I can do, Margaret?” Ben asked, leaning forward, out of the shadow cast by the lamp. He had so many questions but dared not ask them.   
“I should be alright now, it was just a bad dream.” Meg took a deep breath and sat down on the edge of the bed beside Ben. “You should get some sleep.”   
“Let me comfort you, Margaret.” Gently, he took her hand in both of his. She shook slightly, still reeling from the dream.  
“Maybe you could hold me for a while, just until I fall back to sleep.” She wasn't about to turn him down, not after reliving the worst day of her life in her dreams.   
“Alright.” Ben retrieved his pillow and settled in behind Meg in the big bed. She squirmed back against his chest, pulling his arm around her waist. She fell asleep a short while later. It wasn't so easy for Ben. What had happened to this woman who pretended to be so invulnerable? What demons tormented her sleep?   
Friday  
When Meg woke she felt Ben's arms still around her. They lay facing each other, Ben's hand loosely lying on her back. More relaxed than she'd ever seen him, the lady Mountie admired Ben's handsome features. His long eyelashes lay against his cheek like dark lace, the plane of his face gently flowing over high cheekbones to a strong jaw and the most kissable lips Meg had ever seen. Distracted by those lips, she failed to notice blue eyes studying her intently.   
“Good morning.” Ben spoke quietly, husky first thing in the morning.   
“Oh yes, good morning.” Meg's dark eyes flashed upward to meet his light ones.   
“Did you sleep well?” The rumble of Ben's voice made Meg feel a bit giddy.   
“Yes, I did, thank you.” Meg didn't know what to do with the wave of shyness overtaking her. There was only one thing Ben didn't know about her; he'd worked closely with her, kissed and touched her. He'd done her taxes and picked up her dry cleaning for Pete's sake.   
“Are you hungry?” Meg pulled away first, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear as she shoved away the covers.   
“Yes.” Ben watched Meg dig through her overnight bag, glad for the distraction. Being mere inches from her warm, curvaceous form had worked on him both emotionally and physically.   
“Should we order room service or find a cafe?” She asked, checking her watch for the time.   
“Whatever suits you, I have to shower and shave.” Ben had collected himself; ready to eat.   
“A shower, hmm, wish I could be a fly on that wall.” Meg surprised herself with such a thought. It made her smile, wondering what Ben would say if he knew. If only she knew he'd had much the same thought the previous night.   
“I'll order and dress while you're busy.” Meg offered, her clothes in hand. Ben simply nodded as he carried his clothes and shaving kit into the bathroom. Part of him wanted Meg to join him in the steamy shower. He wanted to see her dark locks in heavy, wet tendrils around her face, clinging to her neck. The next phase of the therapy would involve a much more personal touch, requiring her complete trust and comfort. Ben wasn't certain he could guide her through the next steps. Her nightmares concerned him. They were the root of the problem. If she wouldn't share them, the problem would remain no matter what method they tried.   
Freshly showered and hungrier than when he woke, the Mountie stepped out of the bathroom to see Meg with her back to him, staring out the window at the street below. She'd dressed in a button down blouse of rich brows, maroon and navy. Beneath the blouse she wore navy slacks and flat, black shoes. The smell of bacon and coffee filled the room.   
“The room service waiter arrived while you were busy.” Meg turned, a cup of coffee in hand.   
“Have you eaten already?” Ben noted the slightly disheveled covers on the dishes.   
“No, I thought I'd wait, I did steal a piece of bacon.” An impish smile played across Meg's features.   
“It isn't stealing if it's freely given.” Ben lifted the covers off the plates. The hotel kitchen had fixed generous plates for them.  
“You give until it hurts, don't you.” Meg crossed the room and took a seat at the foot of the bed. Ben looked at her in surprise. He didn't know how to respond. Meg wasn't being sarcastic or acerbic.   
“Yes, I have at times.” He answered truthfully, not wanting to delve into his past.  
Meg sipped her coffee as she studied him over the rim a moment. Part of her wanted to peel the layers of her subordinate officer away, to see the real Ben Fraser underneath. She would never completely understand him.   
“What would you like to do today?” Ben changed the subject, redirecting her probing stare.   
“Hmm, I'm not sure, I'll have to think about it.” Meg answered, unwrapping her fork. Ben sat down beside her, taking up his own flatware. She watched him use his knife and fork as if the Queen were sitting across from him. He had so many quirks.   
Meg thought of all the things she'd done in Chicago. There had been plays, operas, dinner parties, she'd had her fill of museums in school. She'd had more fun at the zoo than she had in ages.   
By the end of breakfast, Meg still hadn't decided what she wanted to do for the day. They decided to get on the train and see what there was to see. Still early, the city undulated with people as they went to and from work. A few people on the train yawned or sipped steaming coffee as they stared lifelessly ahead, waiting to reach their destinations.   
Ben watched Meg as she peered out the filmy windows at the city around them. She wore a pleasant expression, one he saw rarely. She'd been wearing it since they'd started this journey.   
“If only she knew.” Ben thought to himself.   
***


	7. Friday Continued

Friday Continued ….  
The pair wound up at a movie theater after lunch. The old building had been renovated, leaving the original details but upgrading the necessities. All but one of the screens showed new movies, the last one showing classics. Names such as Clark Gable, Audie Murphy and Barbara Stanwyck graced brightly colored posters from the theater's first heyday. Ben and Meg shuffled toward the ticket window hand-in-hand.   
“I didn't know you were a movie lover, Ben.” Meg couldn't imagine him watching a western when he'd practically lived one most of his life.   
“There were a few occasions when I would go into the village or into the city, I would go to the movies. My grandmother would often talk about seeing silent movies as a girl. She spoke as if it were magic.” A nostalgic smile pulled at his lips as his blue eyes stared at one of the classic movie posters.   
“Hello, what can I get for you today?” A college age brunette asked behind the Plexiglas window.   
“Two for the classic screening, please.” Meg asked before Ben could answer. With a devilish smile she turned back to him.  
The clerk gave them the tickets and wished them a good day. After buying a large bucket of popcorn and two soft drinks, they made their way to the classic screen. Muted lighting led toward two dozen rows of seats, all of them captains chairs covered in serviceable, maroon material. A few, older patrons had already taken their seats. Ben and Meg slid into a row toward the back. They heard stray strands of conversation as they waited for the previews to begin.   
“You must miss your grandparents.” Meg said out of the blue. She casually popped a handful of popcorn into her mouth.   
“Yes, I do. They were always supportive and nurturing growing up.” Ben tapped his finger against his knee as he met her gaze.   
“I take it they didn't mind you joining the Force?” It hadn't been that easy when she'd decided to join. Her parents had agreed on something for a change; that she should go to college and into business administration instead. Like a good girl, Meg had gone to college, then she'd joined the RCMP.   
“I believe they would have preferred I go into a civilian filed but they gave me their blessing regardless.” There had been a long, closed door discussion between his grandparents when he'd announced his intentions. His grandmother particularly seemed hesitant to let him go. She had already given her son Robert to a Force that kept him away months at a time.   
Before Meg could ask any more questions the lights dimmed and speakers mounted on the wall began to buzz in preparation for the movie. Both Mounties settled in as the previews began to roll.   
***   
Ben slipped his arm around Meg's shoulders halfway through the movie. She shifted toward him. It was the first time since high school a guy had tried something so naive. Knowing Ben, the lady Mountie felt flattered. She knew he didn't put his arm around just anyone.   
Meg watched the screen closely, the story drawing her in. She ate popcorn slowly, salt on her lips. A brunette girl ran down a dark alley, away from a thug flashing a switchblade knife. As cliché as it was, the movie brought back memories for the lady Mountie. The girl's heels clicked on the pavement as she avoided a dumpster between bars in a shady part of town. She looked back over her shoulder every few seconds, a look of fear plastered on her flawless face. A sparkling cross dangled from a thin, silver chain around her swan neck. The thug advanced on the girl when she turned her heel and fell onto an inky pool of water on the otherwise dry pavement.   
Meg couldn't breathe for the lump in her throat. Her heart hammered in her chest and the dark theater walls felt like they were closing in around her. A whimper managed to escape her tight throat.   
“Margaret, are you alright?” Ben's concerned voice didn't penetrate. He'd slid forward to peer at her in the dim light. All Meg knew was that she had to get away, and soon. She stood up, the popcorn bucket hitting the floor between her feet. Without a word, she ran for the exit. Ben ran behind her, Meg's purse in hand. He found her standing on the sidewalk outside the theater bent over, taking great gulps of air.   
“Margaret, what's wrong?” Ben bent down to her level. He began massaging the back of her neck and her shoulders to calm her. Tears streamed down her cheeks, panic in her dark eyes as she stared at the vehicles parked in front of the theater.   
“Can't breathe, can't …. can't stop it, can't ….” Her voice trailed off as she sobbed, finally beginning to breathe more normally.   
“There's nothing to stop, everything is alright, I'm right here.” Ben tipped her chin up to make her look at him. She shook her head, tears blurring her vision.   
One of the theater employees approached, clearing her throat to announce herself.  
“Sir, is everything alright, I saw the lady run out the door.” The twenty-something girl's green eyes scanned the man and woman bent over.   
“It's a panic attack, could you call a cab please?” Ben asked quietly. “Thank you kindly.” He gave the girl a distracted smile before turning back to Margaret.   
“Yeah, sure.” The girl walked back to the theater. A few minutes later a Gemini cab pulled up. By that time Meg had calmed down but tears still streamed down her cheeks. She hadn't told Ben the reason for her panic attack. She sat quietly, hugging herself tightly and shaking. Ben gave the driver instructions to take them to the Blackstone Hotel.   
***   
“Are you hungry, Margaret?” Ben asked after arriving at their hotel room. He eyed the menus lying on the desk.   
“No, I just want to lie down for a while.” The first sentence she'd uttered since the movie theater. Still, it was progress.   
“Would you like me to lie with you?” He moved toward her still form seated on the foot of the bed. Meg recoiled, fear rising in her eyes.   
“No, I'm fine, I just want to sleep.” She crawled backward, kicking off her shoes and burrowing under the covers. Ben drew his hand down his face, unsure of what to do. He recalled the image on the screen just before Meg bolted from the theater. It was the key to unlocking the lady Mountie.   
“I'll take a walk.” Ben left the room, looking over his shoulder before closing the door quietly.   
***


	8. Three Hours Later

_**Three Hours Later ….** _

Meg lay sleeping when Ben let himself back into the hotel room. He'd called and checked on Turnbull and Diefenbaker at the consulate before calling Ray. The undercover detective had called the consulate a dozen times looking for him.

Meg heard the groan of the wooden chair at the desk. Her eyes flew open. Not ten feet away sat Ben. He watched her, his head turned to the side like his curious, half-wolf. She saw the concern in his Atlantic blue orbs.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you.” Ben spoke low, keeping his distance.

“If I sleep now I won't sleep tonight.” Meg sat up, swinging her feet over the bed. _“Not that I will anyway.”_ She added to herself.

“Yes, I suppose so.” Ben agreed, still studying her. With a tired sigh and a frown, Meg met his gaze. She knew what he wanted.

“The year my parents separated I was so angry at both of them I became rebellious.”

Ben pulled his chair closer to the bed, close enough to hold her hand should she need it.

“A friend and I slipped out of her house, all short skirts, low cut tops and too much make-up. We looked ridiculous really.” Meg let a wry smile through. “We snuck into a bar on the bad side of town. There were so many people, an out of date disco ball, loud music and alcohol. My father gave me money instead of the love I needed. I used it to bribe the bartender. Thankfully, he watered it down but Rebecca and I still got drunk, and very sick. We stumbled out the back door and into the alleyway. Neither of us ever imagined what could happen to us.” Meg wiped a tear away, taking a deep breath before continuing. “A middle aged guy followed us out of the bar. Rebecca was helping me behind a dumpster, I'd vomited all over myself and was about to pass out. The guy grabbed her by the throat and dragged her down the alley. I tried to get to her, to help her, but he raped her and there wasn't anything I could do.” Tears streamed freely down Meg's face now. She'd been forced to tell the story time and time again afterward, but not in years. Seeing something so similar happening on the movie screen had triggered the panic attack. Having a man looming over her triggered all her fight or flight responses.

“The rapist choked Rebecca almost to death. She was unconscious when he left. The bartender came out to take a smoke break and found us. He called the cops who called our parents. I told the police everything I could remember. Rebecca's father tracked the man down and killed him. He's still in prison. I lost touch with Rebecca and her mother after that. When I joined the Force I found her father, we write a few letters through the year.” Meg let out a long, shuddering breath. With the lightest touch, Ben took her hand in his.

“It's alright, it's all over.” He got down on his knees in front of her, running his thumb over her cheek to wipe away her tears. It had taken such courage to tell him all of that. He wished he could wipe the pain away as easily as he did her tears.

“No, it's not, Ben, it's never over, not really.” Meg shook her head. “Every time, I see that man over Rebecca, I see him and I'm fourteen again, afraid the same thing is going to happen to me.” A sob escaped before Meg could stop it. She hated crying in front of anyone, but especially Ben.

“It won't happen, I won't let it.” Ben slid his arm around her, pulling her close. She sat back, burying her face in her hands for a moment before wiping fresh tears away.

“Can we finish the exercises tonight?” Meg straightened, her back nearly rigid, determination in her dark eyes.

“Are you certain, Margaret?” Ben cupped her cheek.

“Yes, I want to do this, to put this behind me.” A fierceness burned in her eyes.

“Alright, but we can stop anytime, don't force it.” Ben stood up.

“There's no going back.” She nodded defiantly.

“The next step is the most difficult, it requires complete trust on both sides. You and I, we,” Ben stared at his boots for a long moment. The thought of holding a naked Margaret Thatcher made his pulse race. Being naked himself, for her to see, to touch and be touched, stirred something in him that he thought had died when Victoria left.

Meg saw his hesitation and guessed the source. She took his chin firmly in hand, turning him to face her.

“Ben, kiss me.” She ordered in her best Inspector voice. Whether an order or permission, Ben bridged the gap between them, kissing her as instructed. The passion between them rivaled their runaway train kiss. This time there was no Sergeant Frobisher to interrupt them. Meg slipped her fingers into Ben's hair while he held her close enough to feel her body pressed against his.

“You know everything there is to know about me, Ben. Trust me for a change.” Meg whispered after they broke the kiss. He leaned his forehead against hers, still rocked by her initiative. Pulling away, he nodded, meeting her solemn gaze.

They sat together a moment while Ben explained the rules of his technique. Meg stripped down to her under garments in the bathroom. Ben undressed in the hotel room, locking the door and making certain the do-not-disturb sign hung on the outside door knob.

“I should have packed something besides lace, these aren't as comfortable as ….” Meg stopped talking, speechless when she saw Ben wearing nothing but his starched boxers. Soft, classical music played on the radio in the background and a pillow case dimmed the already low lamp light.

 _“I wonder if he thought to bring contraceptives when he booked the room?”_ Meg thought to herself, after the shock had worn off.

“There are two ways to begin this exercise, facing each other or with your back to my chest.” Ben held his hands firmly clasped together over the 'Fraser family jewels'.

“My back against your chest would be best.” Meg stepped across the room to where he stood in the center of the room. He'd hastily shoved all the furniture against the walls to make room for them to work.

“Would you like to sit or stand?” Ben tried to focus on gathering information and not on his scantily clothed superior officer.

“I think standing would be better.” Meg turned her back to him, only to see them both in the mirror above the chest of drawers. Ben toyed with his eye tooth as he looked down at her shoulders.

“Should I cover the mirror?” He met her gaze in the glass, his voice vibrating in her ear.

“No, it's fine, we can just turn the other direction.” Meg turned quicker than Ben, finding her nose near his chin. She felt small and vulnerable. She reminded herself that she was with Ben, that she was safe.

“Pardon me.” He circled her. They stared at the head of the bed now. Slowly, Ben laid his warm hands on Meg's shoulders and began trailing them down her arms. When he reached her thighs he asked her to lay her hands over his.

“When you feel something you like apply pressure, if you find something unpleasant tap on the back of my hand. I'll be caressing you in ways that I find pleasurable.” Ben wondered if he could remember how he liked to be touched. “Hopefully, we have similar tastes.”

“What if one of us becomes,” Meg fumbled her words, “one of our interests become piqued?” Just having Ben that close was making her heart hammer.

“The focus of this exercise is exploration, sexual contact and orgasm are prohibited.” Meg felt Ben stiffen. All she could do was nod, what was there to say?

Ben slid his hands up the outside of Meg's thighs, barely skimming her ass with his fingertips. She responded by pressing her hand against his. He grew bolder, cupping her round, muscular southern cheeks. Meg had to bite her lip to keep a pleased sigh from escaping. If she reacted too much she feared Ben would stop the exercise.

Trailing his hands over her waist, he moved up her ribs, eliciting a giggle. He froze.

“I'm ticklish, sorry.” Meg cleared her throat, regaining control.

 _“Ticklish, interesting.”_ Ben thought to himself, storing that tidbit away for later.

Gently, Meg pulled his hand around her ribcage, below her breast. Her bra barely hid her tightened nipples. She didn't have to concentrate to know the pulse she felt in his hand was racing. Hers matched it beat for beat.

 _“You're here to help her, Benton, only here to help.”_ He had to remind himself, shifting his hips away from her backside. He slid his warm hand down her stomach, his fingertips grazing the top of the red and white, lace panties riding low on her hips. They barely covered the necessities.

 _“It's a good thing I hand washed these undies this morning.”_ Meg tried to keep her mind from wandering. Part of her wanted to lead Ben's hands a lot farther south than her bellybutton.

“When is it my turn to touch you?” She asked, breaking the silence.

“Soon.” Ben answered, his voice husky and his eyes closed. If he looked down he would see Margaret's breast, the red and white lace trim teasing him, telling him to lay his cheek against one or the other, reminding him of bobby pins and the smell of hay and horses.

“Can we take a break before it's my turn?” Meg asked, her stomach clenched so tightly she thought it might snap like a rubber band. His rough thumb and fingertips weren't helping her predicament. She'd heard him playing guitar, his dextrous fingers manipulating the strings as easily as he made her melt. There wasn't a span of skin he could touch that didn't please her.

“Yes, that would be an excellent idea.” Ben took a breath and let it out slowly. He wanted to slip his hand beneath the skimpy lace of her bra and that wasn't a helpful thought. He finished his turn by massaging Meg's shoulders, the most neutral place he could find.

“Excuse me, please.” Ben lifted his hands quickly. He had to get to the bathroom.

Meg swallowed, reeling from the loss of his touch. She sat down on the foot of the bed, weak in the knees. Her nipples nearly ached and her femininity had been wet for ages. She didn't know if she could touch him and not crudely jump his bones. Judging from the distance he'd put between them the longer they touched, he was having the same thoughts.

***

 


	9. G Rated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the G/PG rated version of this chapter. I will also be posting a more racy version.

Three Hours Later …. Continued ….  
Ben ran cold water, splashing it on his face, the back of his neck, the inside of his wrists, anywhere he thought it would cool him down. He felt as though he was standing over an oven, standing so near Margaret. It wouldn't do her any good if he let his lusts rule the night. He knew it would most certainly make her difficulties worse. Ben couldn't hurt her like that. He'd just have to keep himself in check for a few more hours. Looking in the mirror, he didn't know if he could. No amount of mental recitation could completely distract him from the warm, trusting woman standing so closely.   
“You are Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP, you can do this.” He reminded himself sternly.   
“If you don't do something soon, son, you're going to have a puddle of an Inspector in there.” Robert Fraser appeared behind his son in the mirror. Ben might as well have swallowed a hand full of salt peter.   
“Dad, now is not the time for a pep talk.” Ben hissed in the mirror. His father took it in stride.   
“I'm glad to see you've taken an interest in her, I was beginning to think I'd never be around long enough to see grandchildren.” The older Mountie came around to Ben's side, standing between the commode and the sink basin. The younger Fraser hung his head, his frame braced on the sides of the sink.   
“Margaret and I are not going to have intercourse, Dad.” Ben hissed again, turning his bright blue eyes on his father.   
“HA!!” The old man barked, followed by a laugh. “We'll see about that.”   
A denial hung on Ben's lips when he heard Meg's voice.   
“Do we need to stop for the night?” She asked, standing in the middle of the room.   
“No, we should proceed.” He heard himself say before opening the door.   
Meg had pulled on her tee shirt nightgown while he'd been in the bathroom. It was easier to concentrate with her covered but Ben still felt disappointed.   
“Where should I stand, facing you?” She asked, rubbing hand lotion between her fingers. The concoction smelled heavily of oranges.   
Ben simply nodded, coming to stand in front of her, hands at his sides. Meg studied him a moment before touching him. She noted his broad shoulders, toned arms and abs. He was muscular from clean living and hard work, not from hours spent in a gym to impress anyone.   
“I should touch you in ways that I like to be touched?” Meg asked, delaying. She yearned to feel his body against her hands; the warmth of his skin, the steady rise and fall of his breathing.   
“That is the idea, yes.” The words sounded odd to his keen ears. His body reacted in unpredictable ways around Margaret. As usual, Ben wanted to run but he desperately wanted to stay at the same time. He swallowed the urge to take off and let himself feel her closeness.   
Meg reached up and touched Ben's cheek with the back of her hand, her gaze steady and curious. Part of her wanted to push the envelope and toy with him. But that would be cruel and Ben had been nothing but kind to her through everything. Her smaller, soft hands glided down his neck, to his shoulders where she traced his collar bones with her thumbs. With her index fingers she drew a heart in the center of his chest, gently teasing with an earnest smile.   
“Yours is bigger though.” She retraced the heart, encompassing most of his chest, the point coming together at his bellybutton. Ben laid his hand over hers for a moment, silently thanking her for the compliment. She bit her lip as she met his eye. In his blue eyes was a fierceness she hadn't seen in any man's eyes, not for her. Ben wanted her, body and soul.   
“The focus is not the act itself,” His words came back to her. “it's exploration and relaxation; the aspects of bonding; caress, personal interaction and trust.” Meg pulled her hands away, folding them together. She couldn't trust herself not to push too far, to ruin the moment. She wanted him too much.   
“Is anything the matter, Margaret?” Ben peered intently down at her.   
“Maybe we should stop for now, it's been one hell of a day.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, avoiding eye contact.   
She didn't want to stop, for that matter, neither did Ben. But, he wasn't going to push it. He simply stepped back and nodded, his face impassive. Silently, Meg peered up at him apologetically before stepping to the bed and throwing back the covers. It seemed too large to her. A sea of navy and gold accents awaited her.   
Ben dug a tee shirt out of his pack and pulled it on quickly. The more clothing he had on the steadier he felt. The scent of Meg's lotion hung heavy in the air. He could almost taste it, could feel the heat under his skin from her soft touch. The sight of her in that cotton candy nightgown lingered on his mind.   
“Ben,” Meg's voice interrupted his thoughts.   
“Hmm, yes?” He whirled around to face her where she sat on the edge of the bed.   
“Could you keep me company tonight?” She patted the bed beside her. “It's quite large enough for the both of us to sleep comfortably.” She rushed to explain.   
“It is, isn't it.” He agreed, hands folded in front of him. Ben wondered how it would feel to hold her close in his narrow cot at the consulate. He wanted to tickle her, to hear her laugh and feel her squirm in his arms.   
After settling himself in the bed behind Meg, Ben lay awake in the dark. A faint glow illuminated a spot beneath the heavy drapes. Glaring red numbers declared the time from the radio alarm clock on the nightstand. He slid his arm around Meg's waist, his large hand splayed from beneath her breast to her hip bone. She patted his forearm and sighed contentedly. Ben had noticed that she enjoyed what was commonly called “snuggling'. He'd heard Ray, both of them, complain about it often enough to know the term. For him though, it wasn't so bad. Snuggling was warm and pleasant. Compared to Dief, Meg was a dream to sleep with.   
“I still don't understand you, Benton Fraser.” Meg's voice interrupted his thoughts. He lifted his head to peer at her.   
“Oh, how so?” He asked, laying his head back on the pillow.   
“I can understand if a woman's husband or boyfriend goes to such trouble to help her through something like this, but you and I are ….” Meg dropped the sentence. She'd opened a can of worms and knew it.   
“Superior and subordinate officers.” Ben finished. The same thoughts had crossed his mind from the very beginning.   
“Yes.” Meg agreed.   
“I'd like to consider myself your friend.” Ben shifted to raise onto his free elbow.   
“I am not of that feather to shake off my friend when he must need me.” Meg quoted a line of Shakespeare she'd memorized in school years ago. It was true of Fraser. How many times had he pulled Ray's, both of them, fat out of the fire? “Thank you, Ben, for everything. I don't think I can ever properly repay you.”   
“Helping others is repayment in itself.” Ben had told people that old maxim many times and it had never sounded so much like a lie.   
“I love you, Margaret, I'd do anything to help you.” He thought to himself, laying back and pulling her closer.   
Soon they both fell asleep to dream pleasant dreams.  
***


	10. X Rated Ch. 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the racy version of chapter nine.

_**Three Hours Later …. Continued ….** _

Ben ran cold water, splashing it on his face, the back of his neck, the inside of his wrists, anywhere he thought it would cool him down. He felt as though he was standing over an oven, standing so near Margaret. It wouldn't do her any good if he let his lusts rule the night. He knew it would most certainly make her difficulties worse. Ben couldn't hurt her like that. He'd just have to keep himself in check for a few more hours. Looking in the mirror, he didn't know if he could. No amount of mental recitation could completely distract him from the warm, trusting woman standing so closely.

“You are Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP, you can do this.” He reminded himself sternly.

“If you don't do something soon, son, you're going to have a puddle of an Inspector in there.” Robert Fraser appeared behind his son in the mirror. Ben might as well have swallowed a hand full of salt peter.

“Dad, now is not the time for a pep talk.” Ben hissed in the mirror. His father took it in stride.

“I'm glad to see you've taken an interest in her, I was beginning to think I'd never be around long enough to see grandchildren.” The older Mountie came around to Ben's side, standing between the commode and the sink basin. The younger Fraser hung his head, his frame braced on the sides of the sink.

“Margaret and I are _not_ going to have intercourse, Dad.” Ben hissed again, turning his bright blue eyes on his father.

“HA!!” The old man barked, followed by a laugh. “We'll see about that.”

A denial hung on Ben's lips when he heard Meg's voice.

“Do we need to stop for the night?” She asked, standing in the middle of the room.

“No, we should proceed.” He heard himself say before opening the door.

Meg had pulled on her tee shirt nightgown while he'd been in the bathroom. It was easier to concentrate with her covered but Ben still felt disappointed.

“Where should I stand, facing you?” She asked, rubbing hand lotion between her fingers. The concoction smelled heavily of oranges.

Ben simply nodded, coming to stand in front of her, hands at his sides. Meg studied him a moment before touching him. She noted his broad shoulders, toned arms and abs. He was muscular from clean living and hard work, not from hours spent in a gym to impress anyone.

“I should touch you in ways that I like to be touched?” Meg asked, delaying. She yearned to feel his body against her hands; the warmth of his skin, the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

“That is the idea, yes.” The words sounded odd to his keen ears. His body reacted in unpredictable ways around Margaret. As usual, Ben wanted to run but he desperately wanted to stay at the same time. He swallowed the urge to take off and let himself feel her closeness.

Meg reached up and touched Ben's cheek with the back of her hand, her gaze steady and curious. Part of her wanted to push the envelope and toy with him. But that would be cruel and Ben had been nothing but kind to her through everything. Her smaller, soft hands glided down his neck, to his shoulders where she traced his collar bones with her thumbs. With her index fingers she drew a heart in the center of his chest, gently teasing with an earnest smile.

“Yours is bigger though.” She retraced the heart, encompassing most of his chest, the point coming together at his bellybutton. Ben laid his hand over hers for a moment, silently thanking her for the compliment. She bit her lip as she met his eye. In his blue eyes was a fierceness she hadn't seen in any man's eyes, not for her. Ben wanted her, body and soul.

 _“The focus is not the act itself,”_ His words came back to her. _“it's exploration and relaxation; the aspects of bonding; caress, personal interaction and trust.”_ Meg pulled her hands away, folding them together. She couldn't trust herself not to push too far, to ruin the moment. She wanted him too much.

“Is anything the matter, Margaret?” Ben peered intently down at her.

“Maybe we should stop for now, it's been one hell of a day.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, avoiding eye contact.

“You don't actually wish to stop, do you?” He lifted her chin.

“No, I don't, that's why I should. I don't want to ruin it.” She wanted to be able to be 'Meg' around him.

“Let's finish what we started.” Ben's lips met hers; gentle, passionate, holding nothing back.

Meg slid her arms around his torso, more to support herself than for intimacy. She felt his strong hand on her back, just below her neck. Encouraged, Meg leaned in, her thin gown allowing her to feel Ben's stiffening form against her stomach. She shifted her hands down his back, holding on tightly. Her fingers brushed a rough depression down toward his waist band. She felt Ben jerk away when she pressed. When they broke the kiss she saw sadness in his eyes.

“Old wound?” She asked, bringing her hands to his ribs instead.

“Yes, but it's nothing.” He avoided her gaze, stroking her hair.

“You'd rather not talk about it?” Meg asked. She'd read his service and medical file before taking the helm of the Chicago Consulate. She knew it was the bullet wound he'd received chasing the Metcalf woman.

“Okay.” Meg resisted the urge to dig into the matter and smiled up at him. She still sat the dark clouds in his eyes.

 _“I'm not going to hurt you like she did, Ben, I promise.”_ She silently vowed, to herself as much as to him.

Ben caught the edge of Meg's night gown and began pulling it up her thighs. What better distraction than to undress her? He didn't want to talk about old ghosts and aching wounds. Meg had treated him harsh in the past, but she'd never betrayed him or used him the way Victoria had. Fetching her dry cleaning did not compare to being a pawn or the target for revenge.

“I thought I was the one doing the touching.” Meg tapped the back of Ben's hand.

“Use more than your hands to touch.” The truth was, Ben couldn't keep his hands off her. He drew the nightgown up her body, revealing her trim figure and lacy underthings again. Arms over her head, Meg drew her knee up the outside of Ben's leg, dragging his boxers leg up with her heel. For a moment she wondered if she could pull them off with her toes. Nah, too complicated.

Ben threw the nightgown toward the nightstand before unfastening Meg's bra. His muscles tightened when he felt her tugging on his boxers. They were going far and above the exercises he'd had in mind for the evening. He watched as she shrugged out of her bra.

“I want to touch you, Ben.” Meg ran her finger around his nipple, peering up at him beneath her thick, dark lashes. Her voice purred like he'd never heard before, thick and full of longing. The sound was pure maple syrup, sweet and clinging to his ears.

“As you wish, Margaret.” Ben pushed off his boxers, avoiding his aching manhood.

Meg cupped Ben's erection with her right hand. A cross between a groan and a gasp exited through his clenched jaw. Meg smiled. Giving a good hand job was a lot like throwing a good curve ball, it was all in the grip. Ben stood perfectly still, as if on sentry duty. He wanted to take her by the hand and lead her to the waiting bed. He wanted to take his time and love her cares away.

Meg's grip tightened as she slid her hand toward the base. She peered up at Ben, gauging his reaction. He licked his bottom lip before toying with his imperfect eye tooth. The man was positively rigid.

“We both know where this is going, Ben.” Meg rubbed herself against him, breast to chest, his manhood still in hand.

“It shouldn't, intercourse isn't part of the exercise yet.” It was true but sounded like a lie regardless.

“Ben, lets be together tonight, we've wanted to for ages.” Meg spoke softly, working her hand up and down his length as he met her gaze. Slowly, he laid his hand over hers, taking her free hand as well.

“Let's do this for the right reasons, Margaret.” He leaned in and gave her a toe curling kiss, his hands in her hair, their bodies nearly inseparable. Coming up for air, Ben began kissing his way down her neck, slipping her lace underwear off her ass and letting it drop to the floor at their feet. He claimed her breast with his mouth, gently tugging on it with his teeth. His other hand cupped the mound of flesh, his thumb toying with her nipple. Meg ran her fingers through his short, soft hair. She laid her cheek against the top of his head, enjoying the feel of his breath on her skin. She pressed her breast to his face. She didn't know how much longer she could go without falling into bed with him. He ran his lower lip over her other nipple, his tongue skimming the tender nerve endings. She moaned his name, leaning her head back in ecstasy. Her heart beat like a rock n roll drum and the room felt stifling hot. Meg pulled them backward, falling onto the bed. Ben rolled onto his back, bringing Meg to rest on top of him. His manhood throbbed painfully, screaming for relief.

“What if I can't do this?” Not the most opportune time for either of them, but Meg had to ask. She didn't want to disappoint him or herself.

“It isn't a test, Margaret, say the word and we'll stop.” Ben offered, his hands resting on her back. He could feel every glorious, naked inch of her against him. He felt the press of her breasts against him, the jut of her hip, her legs tangling with his.

“You'll never know for certain until you try.” He whispered hotly in her ear, his fingertips dancing up her sides to cup her face on either side.

“I want to try, Ben, I want to feel like a woman for a change.” She searched his eyes for support, finding kindness and strength. Meg could have drown in his dark blue eyes. She met his lips with a kiss of her own, taking his cock in hand before straddling him. Ben's stomach tightened as she eased onto him. Resisting the urge to thrust, he closed his eyes when the tip of his cock slid past the entrance to her pussy. When he opened his eyes he saw Meg biting her bottom lip, eyes closed in concentration. She slowly sank farther down on him, her wet pussy hot and slick. Ben couldn't avoid rising a bit. Meg's eyes flew open, a look of fear and confusion crumpling her face.

“What's wrong?” Ben asked, his voice harsh. “Is it too much?” Meg shook her head.

“I've never taken the lead in bed before, just by myself.” She laid her forehead against his shoulder. Ben wet his lower lip thoughtfully. He didn't have much experience taking the lead either.

“This could only happen to me. I finally get you into bed and I don't know what to do with you.” Meg groaned. She threw her head up in surprise when she realized what she'd admitted.

Ben blinked rapidly, speechless. A smile spread across his face and he began laughing. Despite the fact that his balls were turning blue, he let out a full, rolling belly laugh.

“Are you laughing at me?” Meg shifted her weight, sitting back a bit, pouting.

“No, not at all. Oh dear,” He raised up onto his elbows, wiping his eyes. “I'm laughing at the situation.” He could only imagine what Ray would say if he knew what was going on. Most likely something about the sexually inept leading the sexually frustrated.

Meg scowled down at him, her dark eyes keen as razors. Ben knew he'd have to do something soon to coax her back into the mood before he had to take his matter in hand and finish himself. He laid firm hands on either hip and pulled her down onto him, thrusting gently as he did. Then he pushed her up again. Nodding, Meg took the hint and began riding him. She was tight from nerves but when she began to cum Ben thought she'd pinch his dick off her muscles constricted so much.

 _“Perhaps oral sex would have been a better starter.”_ He thought as his own wave of golden euphoria began to well up.

Meg rode him until she felt as limp as a dish rag. They were both covered in sweat and cum, muscles tingling and shuddering. Meg sank helplessly, face first onto Ben's heaving chest. Tears began to well up in her dark eyes as he groaned. It had been quick but satisfying.

“Margaret?” Ben pushed her hair away from her face. She raised her head, her eyes glistening.

“It was wonderful! I've never felt like that.” She smiled, her voice cracking as she pulled herself away. “Thank you, Ben!” Meg clasped his face in her hands and pressed a zealous, sloppy kiss to his lips.

“You're most welcome.” He responded, feeling drowsy after his first release in far too long. His eyes drifted closed, Meg's head resting on his chest as she curled against his side.

She felt relieved to know that sex wasn't impossible for her. Having broken the barrier with Ben felt great too, as did an explosive, toe tingling orgasm. All three things left her feeling grateful and horny again. It was difficult enough before, seeing Ben every day at the consulate. Sleeping together had revved her libido up to eleven. His heavy, even breathing told her he'd fallen asleep. Meg could only imagine what it had been like to be hard as a rock and have to wait for his partner to figure out what to do with it.

“Good night, Ben, thank you, my knight.” She whispered.

“G'night, Meg.” He mumbled, making Meg stifle a giggle. The last thing he thought before sleep completely overcame him was, _'Princess Meggie, my princess'._

***

 

 


	11. G -rated Chapter 10

_**Saturday** _

Ben lay behind Meg, watching her sleep curled in a fetal position. Her hair lay messy around her face. Clutching the sheet, she smiled. Ben's eyes followed the white and red strap on her shoulder. He ached to slip his finger beneath the slim strap, to wake her up with a kiss, to taste her sweet skin again. He wanted the moment to last forever. Feeling her warm body snuggled against him had been a dream, a fantasy, since the moment they'd met. As much as she confused him, Ben still longed to see the woman beneath the Inspector.

Ben slid his around around Meg's waist, fitting himself to her. She smelled wonderful. She twined her fingers around his hand. Ben needed her as much as she needed him. He fell asleep feeling whole for the first time in years.

_**A few hours later ….** _

“Ben,” He heard a soft, familiar voice interrupt his sleep. “Ben, wake up.”

His blue eyes popped open to meet a sleepy pair of dark brown ones above a happy smile.

“Good morning.” Meg pressed a kiss against his forehead.

“Did you sleep well?” He asked, taking her hand in his.

“Yes, I slept excellently.” Meg never wanted to sleep alone again.

“What would you like for breakfast?” Ben asked before pressing a kiss to her palm.

“Surprise me.” Meg snuggled closer. “Right now I could eat you up.”

“I don't believe cannibalism would be good for our relationship.” Ben began kissing his way up her arm to nibble on her neck. He loved the sound of her girlish giggle. Breathless, she burrowed against him.

“I have loved the last few days.” Skin-on-skin, they lay together in a private cocoon.

“As have I.” The dream would end all too soon. They would have to go back to being Constable and Inspector. The thought made Ben's heart hurt. Would she forget what they had shared?

“I wish I could turn back time.” Meg sighed, running her knee up Ben's thigh.

“Oh, when would you go back to?” He began tickling the bend of her knee, making her squirm.

“Back to when we were kids. I wish I'd met you then.” Had she really waited all her life for the last few days?

“We weren't the same people then.” Ben pressed a kiss against her temple as she lay draped against his chest, her bare skin caressing his.

“I suppose you're right.” Meg tilted her head to one side in a thoughtful expression.

“If Rebecca hadn't been attacked I wouldn't have joined the Force, I wouldn't have met you.” There were a million puzzle pieces between her father's affair and the last few days with Ben. They all finally fit together.

 _“Though men determine, the gods do dispose; and oft times many things fall out between the cup and the lip.”_ Ben quoted, nuzzling Meg's neck. “I'm not going to let you slip away just yet.”

“It's Sunday.” Meg couldn't suppress a smile as he pulled her hand to his mouth, kissing the inside of her wrist. There were bolder places to plant kisses but that one melted her resolve.

“Yes, and we have over half of it left to do with as we please.” The warm glow of the bedside lamp lit Ben's face as he lay on his side facing Meg. His blue eyes studied her face, free of make-up, smiling and happy.

“Right now, breakfast pleases me.” She slid her hand up his bare arm, across his shoulder and into his hair. With a sigh, she began twirling a strand of his hair around her finger. She watched his inquisitive blue eyes change from simply studying her to desiring her. His gaze narrowed, his chin pulling down as he wet his full lower lip, the tip of his tongue skimming slowly. The transformation surprised Meg. He'd looked at her like that before but she'd never associated it with wanting her. She knew he wanted her but wouldn't ask, he'd let his desire burn until it cooled.

“Why won't you ask, Ben?” Meg's pulse raced as she asked, her gaze locked on his.

“Pardon?” He tilted his head, making the dark, craving look deepen.

“You ask so little for yourself, instead you give everything you have to others, to help them, to defend them. You care about people who'd betray you in an instant.” She never would understand this man. Yes, he had many friends, good ones like the Rays, among others. At the end of the day he slept alone in a cot at the consulate.

“It's my duty to help others.” Ben didn't want to rehash this subject with her. He wanted to lay in bed, enjoying the only opportunity to lover her he felt he would ever have. He didn't want to let time slip away.

Meg shook her head, brow furrowed in concern. She couldn't let this injustice stand, not when she could act.

“You've given me all week, let me give you this afternoon. Let's take a walk along the lake, we can have lunch at this wonderful, Italian restaurant downtown. Perhaps we could try going to the movies again.” Meg watched Ben shake his head.

“Thank you, Margaret, but you don't have to go to the trouble. This week has been my pleasure.” Ben laid a silencing finger over her lips. He appreciated that she wanted to make him happy and that was thanks enough.

“What can I do for you, anything?” She persisted.

“There's no greater gift to give me than yourself and your time.” He gave her an earnest smile, stroking her cheek with his knuckles.

 _“It's not enough, you deserve more than me.”_ Meg closed her eyes, biting her tongue and giving Ben his way.

***

 


	12. X- Rated Chapter 10

_**Saturday** _

Ben lay behind Meg, watching her sleep curled in a fetal position. Her hair lay messy around her face. Clutching the sheet, she smiled. Ben's eyes followed the white and red strap on her shoulder. He ached to slip his finger beneath the slim strap, to wake her up with a kiss, to taste her sweet skin again. He wanted the moment to last forever. Feeling her warm body snuggled against him had been a dream, a fantasy, since the moment they'd met. As much as she confused him, Ben still longed to see the woman beneath the Inspector.

Ben slid his around around Meg's waist, fitting himself to her. She smelled wonderful. She twined her fingers around his hand. Ben needed her as much as she needed him. He fell asleep feeling whole for the first time in years.

_**A few hours later ….** _

“Ben,” He heard a soft, familiar voice interrupt his sleep. “Ben, wake up.”

His blue eyes popped open to meet a sleepy pair of dark brown ones above a happy smile.

“Good morning.” Meg pressed a kiss against his forehead.

“Did you sleep well?” He asked, taking her hand in his.

“Yes, I slept excellently.” Meg never wanted to sleep alone again.

“What would you like for breakfast?” Ben asked before pressing a kiss to her palm.

“Surprise me.” Meg snuggled closer. “Right now I could eat you up.”

“I don't believe cannibalism would be good for our relationship.” Ben began kissing his way up her arm to nibble on her neck. He loved the sound of her girlish giggle. Breathless, she burrowed against him.

“I have loved the last few days.” Skin-on-skin, they lay together in a private cocoon.

“As have I.” The dream would end all too soon. They would have to go back to being Constable and Inspector. The thought made Ben's heart hurt. Would she forget what they had shared?

“I wish I could turn back time.” Meg sighed, running her knee up Ben's thigh.

“Oh, when would you go back to?” He began tickling the bend of her knee, making her squirm.

“Back to when we were kids. I wish I'd met you then.” Had she really waited all her life for the last few days?

“We weren't the same people then.” Ben pressed a kiss against her temple as she lay draped against his chest, her bare skin caressing his.

“I suppose you're right.” Meg tilted her head to one side in a thoughtful expression.

“If Rebecca hadn't been attacked I wouldn't have joined the Force, I wouldn't have met you.” There were a million puzzle pieces between her father's affair and the last few days with Ben. They all finally fit together.

 _“Though men determine, the gods do dispose; and oft times many things fall out between the cup and the lip.”_ Ben quoted, nuzzling Meg's neck. “I'm not going to let you slip away just yet.”

“It's Sunday.” Meg couldn't suppress a smile as he pulled her hand to his mouth, kissing the inside of her wrist. There were bolder places to plant kisses but that one melted her resolve.

“Yes, and we have over half of it left to do with as we please.” The warm glow of the bedside lamp lit Ben's face as he lay on his side facing Meg. His blue eyes studied her face, free of make-up, smiling and happy.

“Right now, breakfast pleases me.” She slid her hand up his bare arm, across his shoulder and into his hair. With a sigh, she began twirling a strand of his hair around her finger. She watched his inquisitive blue eyes change from simply studying her to desiring her. His gaze narrowed, his chin pulling down as he wet his full lower lip, the tip of his tongue skimming slowly. The transformation surprised Meg. He'd looked at her like that before but she'd never associated it with wanting her. She knew he wanted her but wouldn't ask, he'd let his desire burn until it cooled.

“Why won't you ask, Ben?” Meg's pulse raced as she asked, her gaze locked on his.

“Pardon?” He tilted his head, making the dark, craving look deepen.

“You ask so little for yourself, instead you give everything you have to others, to help them, to defend them. You care about people who'd betray you in an instant.” She never would understand this man. Yes, he had many friends, good ones like the Rays, among others. At the end of the day he slept alone in a cot at the consulate.

“It's my duty to help others.” Ben didn't want to rehash this subject with her. He wanted to lay in bed, enjoying the only opportunity to lover her he felt he would ever have. He didn't want to let time slip away.

Meg shook her head, brow furrowed in concern. She couldn't let this injustice stand, not when she could act.

“You've given me all week, let me give you this afternoon. Let's take a walk along the lake, we can have lunch at this wonderful, Italian restaurant downtown. Perhaps we could try going to the movies again.” Meg watched Ben shake his head.

“Thank you, Margaret, but you don't have to go to the trouble. This week has been my pleasure.” Ben laid a silencing finger over her lips. He appreciated that she wanted to make him happy and that was thanks enough.

“What can I do for you, anything?” She persisted.

“There's no greater gift to give me than yourself and your time.” He gave her an earnest smile, stroking her cheek with his knuckles.

 _“It's not enough, you deserve more than me.”_ Meg closed her eyes, biting her tongue and giving Ben his way. Thinking back to their first touching exercise, she found his waist. Her fingers clutched his firm ass as she arched her back, pressing herself against him. With her free hand, Meg pulled him by the back of the head down, into a passionate kiss. Her tongue teased his lips, asking permission to enter. Ben met her fire with his own. He drew her closer, dragging his hardening cock against her thigh. His hands felt like fire on her skin, racing wildly over her back, down her side and resting between her legs. Breaking the kiss, he nuzzled her neck, his bottom lip dragging hotly over her earlobe. Meg sank her fingertips into the hard muscles of his thigh, willing him to enter her.

Not yet ready, he stroked her thighs lightly. With his lips occupied working their way to her breasts, Ben pushed her leg away, allowing room to work. He ran his hands absently through the dark thatch covering her gender. It had been ages since anyone had touched her there. She hadn't even fondled herself lately.

“Yes, please.” Meg lifted her hips against his hand hoping to feel his fingers exploring her moist depths.

“We have all day.” Ben coarse voice murmured as he began kissing and licking his way down her quivering stomach. The heat of his tongue caused pleased hums to escape Meg's throat. She lay her left leg aside to make room for him. He didn't satisfy her just yet, taking his sweet time instead. He made love to her according to his time table. This was his fantasy.

Margaret giggled when she felt Ben's tongue slip behind her knee as he progressed down her thigh to her calf. Places like the depression between her ankle bone and hamstring were where he chose to kiss her. Ben kissed every mole and childhood scar up her other leg, stopping to nibble on her right hip bone. When she thought she couldn't take anymore, he blew a raspberry beside her bellybutton, just to hear her laugh. He loved the sound of Margaret's laugh, it welled up inside her, filling her throat and ringing clear, beautiful notes in the air around him.

“I didn't know you were so silly.” Breathless, Meg ran her fingers through his short, soft hair, twining one strand around her finger behind his ear.

“I very rarely get the opportunity to show that side of myself.” He answered with a mischievous half smile.

“I know exactly what you mean.” Meg sighed. She held so much of her true self at bay. Before she could sink into the thought, Ben began teasing her pussy with his tongue. He nibbled first one side then the other, using his finger to separate the swollen lips. The first time his tongue found her clit, Meg thought she's lose her mind. One swipe of his rough tongue and every muscle tightened, as did her fingers in his hair. He stopped a moment, raising up so she'd loosen her grip.

“Sorry.” Meg panted.

Returning to his task, Ben found his rhythm quickly, teasing her to the verge of orgasm then backing off. She begged him to finish, to bring her to the peak of pleasure. When he began to hum, the wonderful vibration making her want to scream, she saw a devilish glint in his light eyes. In a heartbeat it was gone. Two heartbeats later Meg felt her orgasm rock her to her toes. She clutched the bedclothes, holding on to keep from pulling Ben's hair again. She didn't want to interrupt him. Calling his name, thanking him and asking for more in turn, Meg came in mind numbing splendor. She could barely breathe afterward.

Movement was impossible when Ben stepped into the bathroom. Meg lay on her back, sheets still clutched in her hands when he returned. Wearing his formerly starched boxers, he picked up the phone and dialed room service. Food is necessary for continued physical activity. Even the great Benton Fraser couldn't continue on an empty stomach.

****

 


	13. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if this is confusing, it's the only way I know how to do this.

_**Monday Morning ….** _

Meg woke up at her usual time, entirely too early to suit her. A shaft of light from beneath the drapes and the alarm clock were the only lights in the room. It took a moment for her to recognize her surroundings and the weight around her waist as Ben's arm. She lay there a few minutes, hating to disturb him. As gently as possible, she turned to face him.

“What do you want, Diefenbaker?” Ben mumbled when Meg kissed him, making her laugh. From the way he jerked, Meg knew his eyes had flown open and he was wide awake.

“Inspector Thatcher.” He said without thinking.

“Not for a few more hours.” She stroked his cheek, feeling beard stubble on his cheeks and chin. For a moment she wondered what Ben would look like with a beard.

“Good morning, Margaret.” Ben relaxed back into bed after turning on the bedside table lamp.

“Good morning, Benton.” She greeted him with a smile. As hateful as it was, she knew they needed to go back to work, back to Constable Fraser and Inspector Thatcher. Lying in bed with him sounded a lot more appealing.

“Would you like to shower first?” Ben asked, wiping sleep from his eyes.

“Yes, thank you.” Meg answered, snuggling closer to him. She wanted one more unguarded moment with him. “Did you sleep well?” She asked, drawing a heart on his shoulder with her fingertip.

“Yes, thank you.” He rubbed her back absently. “What would you like for breakfast?”

Meg shrugged. “I'll get something on the way to the consulate.” The subject hit them both like a slug to the jaw.

“Turnbull most likely has something baked for our arrival.” Ben tapped his thumb against her tee shirt. He didn't know the path from being a friend and bed fellow back to Margaret's subordinate officer.

“All the more reason to grab a bran muffin on the way to work.” Meg shifted in bed, ready to scramble out of the covers and into a good, hot shower.

“Margaret,” Ben's voice stopped her, a torn expression in his clear blue eyes.

“Yes, Ben?” She settled back down in the bed. The cloud on Ben's face evaporated, replaced by a mask, one she knew too well.

“It's nothing.” He withdrew his arm from her waist, effectively sinking back in on himself. “I'll see you at the consulate.”

“Okay.” Quickly, Meg pressed a good-bye kiss to his cheek. She grabbed her overnight bag and went into the bathroom.

Ben sank back against the cooling sheets, wondering what he'd done to deserve a life so full of complications and loss. Margaret was as gone from him as his parents or Ray Vecchio.

***

When Meg got out of the shower and stepped into the bedroom Ben and his things were nowhere to be seen. The only evidence she hadn't stayed alone was a note on the dresser and a cup of coffee beside a large bran muffin.

“Margaret, I've enjoyed my time with you this week. Best wishes, Ben.” His clear, even handwriting flowed smoothly across the hotel stationary until his three letter name. It sat too far down the page and had been hastily written.

“Hmm, that's odd, Ben, ah, Constable Fraser, is usually more careful.” Meg thought, frowning as she re-read the simple note. She didn't let it puzzle her for long. It would take her a month to catch up on the backlog of paperwork and phone calls she'd missed in the last seven days.

***

Ben walked back to the consulate with his rucksack on his back. He wore his red serge uniform, head held high beneath his Stetson. While his head may have been high, his heart was low. He's set the RCMP aside for the last week, he couldn't switch gears on a whim. Duty, honor, responsibility, they were all too important, too much part of who and what Ben considered himself. He would have to set his new found relationship with Margaret aside. It would hurt them both, but it would be beneficial in the long run. He tried to make that sound like the truth to his own ears.

“Fraser.” Ray's voice broke into the Mountie's thoughts as he neared the consulate steps.

“Good morning, Ray.” He made a b-line for the sleek, black GTO purring curbside. Leaning over to peer in the window, he immediately saw his unofficial partner's annoyance.

“Where the hell ya been, Fraser, I been lookin' for you all over the city. You can't just drop off the face of the planet like that.” The blond detective shook his head, his lightning blue eyes animated.

“My apologies, Ray, something came up.” It wasn't a lie, Ben tried to tell himself.

“Like what, did the 'Ice Queen' drag you off to the mother ship er somethin'?” Ray heard a knock on his driver's side window. Turning, he saw a very pissed Inspector Thatcher. Sheepishly, he rolled his window down.

“Hello, I was just sayin 'Hi' to Fraser.” Ray waved, giving her a tight smile. He'd been caught.

“Don't you have a precinct of your own to report to, Detective?” Inspector Thatcher asked pointedly.

“Yep, sure do.” Ray nodded before rolling his window up again.

“I'll swing by and pick you up for lunch, okay, Frase?” Ray turned to his friend, leaning across the seat.

“Alright, Ray, see you then.” Fraser watched Ray roll the window up and then pull away from the curb. He slipped easily into morning traffic.

Inspector Thatcher watched the American's muscle car as well. Not that she'd ever admit to anyone, but the car was absolutely gorgeous. When she looked over where Ben should have been standing, he'd disappeared.

“Hmm, he's done it again.” She muttered to herself. Coffee cup in hand, she walked into the consulate.

“Ah, Constable Fraser, you're back.” Turnbull's excited voice filled the building, as did a thankful wolf's happy bark. Meg walked into her foyer to see the junior Mountie hugging Fraser, who stood as still as sentry duty.

“Oh, Sir, you're back as well.” Turnbull's face matched his red serge. He stepped toward her, trying to decide if he should hug her as well. From her obsidian glance and pursed lips, he decided against it.

“Good morning, Constable Turnbull, bring my messages into my office, please.” Inspector Thatcher ordered in her usual, business tone. She walked toward her office, expecting to see Fraser in the hall. Somehow, he'd managed to disappear again.

 _“Why would he be running from me?”_ Meg kept her questions to herself.

“Sir, here's your correspondence from the previous week. I've taken the liberty of sorting it for you.” Turnbull handed the Inspector a stack of mail three inches thick. The majority of it was junk mail. Meg glanced from the stack of mail to Fraser's office door and back again. She had things to do that couldn't wait.

***

Fraser put his things away quickly. He had sentry duty promptly at eight-thirty. Standing in one, locked position for the next four hours would at least keep him from seeing Margaret, no, Inspector Thatcher. He'd called her 'Margaret' for the last time that morning.

Dief sat on his haunches watching his human. He'd been entirely too quiet, no scolding, no lectures, no questions. His human smelled like the alpha female too, as well as something he hadn't smelled on him since that Victoria bitch. His human had mated!

Dief squeezed himself between the desk and his humans' oversized feet. Why did they need such large feet for, even the females had them. Yes, it was most definitely there, the smell of mating, no, not quite. Dief took a long, hard whiff of his human. He hadn't mated, he'd only been prepared to. That explained a lot.

The old wolf laid his head on his human's knee for comfort. He looked down at him, annoyance in his eyes. His mouth moved so Dief moved. Quickly, his human walked out of the office and toward the front door. From the heavy way he stepped, it must be standing still time. Dief groaned, he hated standing still time as much as his human did. People sometimes gave him treats or petted him. Others made faces at his human. Dief didn't really like that. He didn't understand it completely, but he didn't like it either. Either way, his human wouldn't be lecturing him until time to eat. The thought of food perked the old wolf up. He trotted out after his human so that he could sniff in the garbage cans around back. The dumb human had thrown some leftovers away a few hours before.

***

Ben settled into position a few seconds before the clock hit eight-thirty. He took a deep breath to calm down and fixed his eyes across the street at a Gothic style church he favored. He wondered if the priests had the same conflicts as he did. They swore a vow of celibacy. They gave their whole being to God. Logically, Ben knew that the celibate life wasn't any easier than his, but it was comforting to think about for a while, at least until lunch when he'd no doubt have to explain his absence to Ray.

****

 


	14. Chapter Twelve

_**Monday, Lunch ….** _

Ray pulled up to the curb in front of Fraser's station a few moments before twelve-thirty. He watched a passing, young blonde wearing a miniskirt as she and a more modestly dressed friend stepped into the sub shop across the street from the consulate. Precisely at twelve-thirty, Ben stepped away from his station. Diefenbaker had reappeared a few minutes before and stood watch with the Mountie.

“Hello, Ray.” He bent down to look in the open passenger window.

“Hey, Frase.” Ray greeted him, never taking his eyes off the blonde. Ben had opened the door, sat down, stowed his Stetson and buckled up before Ray even noticed. Dief sat up in the back seat, looking from one human to the other.

“Where would you like to have lunch?” Ben asked, hoping Ray had forgotten his absence in the past week.

“I brought lunch, thought we'd go to the park.” Ray fired the car up and pulled into traffic. “We gotta talk.”

Ben groaned inwardly. He didn't want to talk, especially not about the previous six days.

****

Diefenbaker lay on the sidewalk outside the pavilion where Ray and Ben sat with foot long sub sandwiches and glass bottles of sweet tea. The old wolf enjoyed the warm sunshine and watching birds and squirrels in the distance.

“It's time to talk turkey, Fraser, where ya been for the last week?” Ray asked before taking a bite of his stuffed sandwich. A dribble of mayonnaise ran down his chin. He wiped at it with a thin, paper napkin.

“I've been here, in the city.” Ben answered, also taking a bite of thinly sliced luncheon meat dressed with tomatoes, onions, honey mustard and lettuce on a wheat bread.

Ray stared at him, giving him a look he usually reserved for Frannie and her annoying answers.

“Where in the city you been, I checked the consulate, my parents, the Vecchios, I called the Inspector, no answer there either, and you weren't in my apartment, I even checked Turnbull's digs, nada. So, I say again, where you been the last week?” Ray wiped his mouth again, staring intently at his Canadian friend. He knew Ben wouldn't outright lie to him, but he might try to dodge the question, change the subject or give a vague answer.

Ben felt trapped. He couldn't expect Ray to trust him if he lied to him. He'd been taught never to lie, that one lie snowballed into other lies and eventually buried you.

“Ray, I'd rather not say.” Ben said truthfully. He watched the blond detective cock his head curiously.

“Well I'd rather not go to work but it don't work like that, buddy.” Ray shook his head, leaning over his sandwich on butcher paper.

“My reasons for being unavailable these last six days are my own.” Ben held firm.

“Fraser, buddy, it's me, Ray, who am I gonna tell if it's somethin' secret?”

The undercover officer had a point. Who would he tell? Ben sighed, running his thumb over his left brow, his sandwich forgotten. With something between a sigh and a growl, Ben answered.

“I spent the last several days with the Inspector.” There, the truth had been spoken.

“So what, you have to go back to the real Canada for somethin'?” Ray shrugged, still trying to piece it together. He took a sip of his tea.

“No, Ray, _with_ the Inspector, at the Blackstone Hotel.” Ben watched his friend choke. He hurried around the metal picnic table to check on his breathing.

“I'm fine, I'm fine.” Ray squeaked, his eyes watering and his face beet red. “You and the Ice Queen, together, doing the horizontal freak?” He shook his head. The detective could imagine Fraser doing a lot of things, but not being intimate with Thatcher.

“No, Ray, she needed help.” Fraser closed his mouth.

The detective grunted, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, right, like she needs anything from anyone.” He scoffed.

Ben didn't know how he could get it through to Ray that there was more to the Inspector than she let people see. He remembered her playful smile and the concern in her dark eyes for him.

“Perhaps you should take the opportunity to get to know Inspector Thatcher. You haven't given her a chance.” Ben looked his best friend and partner square in the eye.

“She keeps her distance and so do I, it works for me.” Ray waved him away, getting back to the business of eating. He still couldn't get past the mental image of Fraser and Thatcher in bed together. There was no un-seeing that image.

***

Meg hung up the phone with a thud. The office door opened a split second later.

“Here's your lunch, Sir, grilled ham and cheese with a salad, just the way you like it.” Constable Turnbull smiled as he brought the tray in and set it down on the coffee table.

“Thank you, Constable Turnbull, you're dismissed for lunch.” Meg shooed him out of her office. She waited until the front door of the consulate opened and closed to pick up the telephone and dial Fraser's extension. No answer. Meg left her lunch sitting on the coffee table and walked to his home/office. The small space smelled like him. Every molecule of the space reminded her of Ben. The desk stood immaculate, his cot had been made according to regulations, the window blinds were open and there were two plants sitting on the sill.

“Hmm, he must have went directly from sentry duty to lunch.” Meg thought as she walked around the desk. Alone in the building, she sat down in Ben's chair. Absently, she pulled out one of the drawers and peered inside. Without her glasses, she couldn't make out details. There were the usual things; a stapler, hole punch, wooden ruler and a box of paper clips. Under the stapler Meg saw a white envelope. It wasn't labeled in anyway but it still felt wrong to pull it out and snoop. She did it anyway. Inside were pocket notebook pages filled with Fraser's clear, flowing handwriting. Each bore a date at the top, right hand corner and 'Dear Margaret' on the left. Meg took them over to the window to see them more clearly in natural light.

_Dear Margaret,_

_I've thought long and hard on exactly how to tell you about my feelings for you. I simply can't find the correct words. I can't remember any passages I've read, or poems from my grandmother's library. Words fail me. I find it frustrating that I can't speak to you as I do Ray. I suppose it's because I feel entirely different about you than I do Ray. When you look my way I find myself weak in the knees. I'd dearly love to hear you laugh, to know what brings you joy._

_At the consulate reception this past Thursday evening I witnessed the Italian Ambassador's aide lay his hand in a very inappropriate place. I'm not usually given to violence, but I felt the urge to break his hand. You put him in his place easily. I'm continually amazed at your intelligence and skills. I want to help you, to stand beside you, not in front of you in any way. You can take care of yourself, but you shouldn't have to all the time._

_I love you, Margaret, but this wall between us is impenetrable._

 

Meg read another letter, this one more revealing than the last.

 

_Dear Margaret._

_I feel like my life is closing in around me. It's becoming tighter and tighter. Pretty soon I don't know if I'll be able to breathe. I don't let people into my life for fear that they won't understand my life, my need for rules, regulations, rituals. A set pattern. I need to be in control of something because I feel like someone is in control of me. I feel like a marionette on a string. I say the right answers, make the right steps and stay in the shadows. Inside my heart is freezing with every passing day. I don't know who I am anymore. I wonder sometimes, do you feel the same about this consulate, about the Force?_

 

Ben hadn't signed the letters, as if he never intended for her to see them. Scanning the other pages, it became clear to Meg that the letters were more of a diary.

“Why hasn't he said something before now?” Meg said aloud.

“Said something about what, Sir?” Fraser's voice startled her. Meg whirled around, the letters in one hand and the envelope in the other.

“Ben, I ….” She watched his expression change from curiosity to anger. “Ben, I didn't mean to pry, I came to speak to you.” Meg put the letters back in the envelope and handed them to him. Ben snatched it away from her, his blue eyes stormy as he stepped around her to his desk.

“I came to …”

Ben cut her off, “Is this in an official capacity, _Sir_?” His tone dripped with anger and betrayal.

“No, it wasn't.” Meg put her hands on her hips as she stared at her loafers for a moment.

“If you'll excuse me, I have four days worth of reports to attend to.” Ben hung his Stetson on the coat tree and sat down at his desk, avoiding eye contact with Margaret.

Slowly, Meg walked toward her office. She'd never seen Fraser that way before. That it was her fault made her feel even more awful. He'd written such honest words in the letters she'd read. All she could do was shake her head and curse herself for ever opening that drawer. Ben had slipped through her fingers again. Meg didn't know if there would be another opportunity.

***

Ben settled into his desk, his heart broken. Diefenbaker made his way into the office, licking his chops. He came around the desk to see his human leaning forward, head in his hands. Dief nosed his way between his feet and peered up at him in concern. The old wolf whined and licked his human's smooth face.

“I'm fine, Diefenbaker, it's nothing.” His human let out a long, ragged breath and there were drops of water on his face. The office smelled of the alpha female. She'd been there, she'd upset his pack mate. Dief growled a few insults as he sat on his haunches beside his human.

“It's not her fault exactly, it wouldn't have happened if I hadn't allowed it. I should have told her how I felt ages ago. Perhaps things would be different if I had.” Ben sniffed, wiping his eyes with the heels of his hands. Dief gave him an eye roll and a derisive snort for his opinion.

“It's complicated, this isn't the wild, the rules are different. I understand the rules of nature, I don't understand the rules of society. All I know is that I love her and it's against the rules, it flies in the face of the regulations that I've sworn to obey. If I disregard them I may as well resign. It's all or nothing.” Ben balled his hands into fists, wanting to smash something, anything, to hear it break and feel it crumble beneath his hands.

“Well, good heaven, what's happened?” Robert Fraser's voice interrupted Ben's thoughts.

 _“Great, just what I needed.”_ Ben groaned inwardly, trying to maintain a neutral mask. “Dad, hello.” He avoided answering the question.

“I could hear you quarreling in my cabin.” The older Mountie hitched his thumb toward the closet door. He studied his son as well as taking in the room in general.

“It's that woman, isn't it.” Robert Fraser declared.

“I don't want to talk about it, Dad.” Ben drew himself up straight, fortifying himself.

“Too bad, Son.” The older Mountie stepped closer to the desk. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the letters lying on the blotter. “She found those letters you've been scribbling for months, didn't she.” He shook his head, his pale blue eyes blazing.

“Yes, Dad, she did.” Ben leaned back in his desk chair, arms crossed over his chest. He could hear an 'I told you so' coming.

“Secrets are never good, son, even if you think they won't hurt anyone, they always come back to hurt you.” The old man shook his head sadly. Ben had always struggled with his feelings, with feeling rejected. Some of that was Robert's fault, some of it was circumstance. Still, he knew that if he'd been more of a presence in his son's life that things would be different.

“You're unliving proof of that.” Ben let out a wry chuckle.

“There's no need to be nasty, son, I've paid for my mistakes, as have you.” Robert had a mind to turn his son over his knee. Then the thought struck him of the absurdity.

“I'm sorry, Dad.” Ben sighed, relaxing a bit. He had a problem on his hands and no idea how to solve it.

“Maybe that Yank friend of yours could offer some advice.” Robert watched his son smile, a disbelieving laugh in his throat.

“It's not the worst advice I've ever given you.” The old man observed.

“Yes, Dad, that is very true.” Ben stood up and collected his Stetson. He felt like getting out of the building anyway, might as well go down to the Twenty-seventh Precinct for a while.

***

 


	15. Chapter Thirteen

_**Monday Afternoon ….** _

Meg picked at her lunch, eating only because she hadn't had a proper breakfast. She still cursed herself for ever going into Ben's office, no, Constable Fraser's office. They'd had such a wonderful week together, why did she have to go and mess it up? Unenthusiastically, she stood up to go to Fraser's office to attempt to talk to him again. She'd reached her door when she heard Fraser's voice.

“Constable Turnbull, I'm headed to the Twenty-seventh Precinct if I should be needed.”

“Alright, Sir, I'll inform the Inspector.” Meg heard Turnbull's chair roll as he stood up.

“Ah, no need to bother the Inspector. I won't be good long.” The front door of the consulate closed with finality. Depressed, Meg went back to the stack of never ending paperwork.

***

“Hey, Dewey, do you know what Mozart’s doin' right now?” Huey asked, perched on his partner's desk. Fraser kept an ear on the old joke, wondering if the punch line would fall flat.

“No, what?”

“De-composing.” Huey laughed alone at his own joke. “What, that was funny, Mozart was a classical music composer you see.” Dewey gave him a dull, bored stare for his efforts.

“Fraser, buddy, how's it hangin'?” Ray asked, leaning back in his roller chair, cup of coffee in hand. Fraser hung his Stetson on the coat tree across the desk from Ray. Diefenbaker sidled up to the detective's desks, hoping for a treat.

“I was hoping we might have a word in private, if you aren't busy.” The Mountie looked around the crowded bull pen. He zoomed in on Francesca Vecchio sitting at her desk, squinting at the computer screen.

“Yeah, sure, where ya wanna go?” Ray straightened up. He opened his top desk drawer and pulled out a Ziploc bag of candy. “The interview room is open.” He suggested. The frown that crossed his friend's face answered for him. Fraser tipped his head and Ray stood up to follow.

For it to be a public restroom, the men's room wasn't half as dirty as one would expect. Fraser walked in, did a cursory scan of the room and then turned the lock on the door. Ray just watched him, the Mountie would tell him in due course.

“Ray, I wanted to ask your advice about something.” Ben began, worrying his eyebrow with his thumb nail.

“Why all the spook type stuff then?” Ray sipped his coffee, leaning his hip on the sink counter.

“It's of an intensely personal nature, I wouldn't want the details to get around the precinct.” Ben explained.

“Okay, shoot, buddy.”

“Shoot what, Ray?” Ben stared at him, perplexed. Ray groaned.

“What do you want advice about, Fraser.” Ray stated, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“When I came into my office after lunch I, uh, I caught the Inspector reading something I hadn't intended for her to see.” Ben had to take a deep breath. It was a relief on one hand and a betrayal on the other.

“Them love letters you been scribblin' forever?” Ray shrugged, not a bit surprised.

“How did you know?” Ben's eyes were wide and so blue.

“I had my glasses on that one day, saw what you were writin'.” Ray knocked back the rest of his coffee then put the cup in the trash.

“You haven't said anything.” Ben marveled at his friend. Ray wasn't one to keep secrets.

“Ah, didn't figure it was any of my business.” The detective crossed one booted foot over the other as he stood facing Ben. In his faded jeans and rock band tee shirt, he didn't look like a Chicago PD Detective First Class.

“So, what's the problem, looks like her finding the letter would be a good thing.” Ray went straight to the heart of the problem.

“As you know, fraternization between the Inspector and I is strictly against regulations, for obvious reasons, so I'm left with a conundrum as to how to proceed. I had initially decided to ignore the relationship that developed over the course of teaching her Sensate Focusing Techniques, but I'm afraid I've become too emotionally involved.”

Ray waited for Ben to stop speaking before giving him a confused look.

“What the hell was that, Fraser, I only got every third word.”

“What he's trying to say, Detective, is that he wants a relationship with Thatcher but it's forbidden and he doesn't know what to do about it. He's torn between loyalty to Canada or to his heart.” Lieutenant Welsh's voice broke into the conversation a moment before the sound of a flushing toilet echoed off the block walls. The elder officer stepped out into the restroom and made his way toward the sinks. He soaped up and proceeded to wash his hands thoroughly.

“Leftennant, good day, Sir.” Fraser ducked his head as he greeted him.

“Constable,” Welsh nodded in the mirror.

“So you see my problem, Ray.” Ben turned to his friend.

“I dunno, Frase, this is kinda outa my league, I mean, I've never been good with women, ask Stella.” Ray's brow furrowed. He'd only loved one woman and that had ended in tears and flames.

“May I interrupt?” Welsh asked, pulling off a few, brown paper towels.

“Yes, certainly, Sir.” Fraser stood up straight, his hands clasped in front of him.

“Answer me this, why did you and Thatcher do this Sensate Focusing Technique thing in the first place?” Welsh threw his paper towels in the trash and leaned on the sink beside Ray.

“That's the very personal part of the problem, Sir.” Ben ran his thumb behind his ear, pulling on the lobe before letting go.

“In for a penny, in for a pound, Constable.” Welsh chided gently. He'd had a few scrapes with love himself and still had the scars to prove it.

“Quite true, Sir. You see, Inspector Thatcher had a date this past Sunday a week ago, things took an intimate turn and because of past trauma, she wasn't able to, ah, wasn't able to... hmm, oh dear.” Ben talked with his hands, trying to get his point across.

“Yeah, we get it, she couldn't get her freak on.” Ray put it crudely but effectively.

“She took last week off to attend intensive therapy sessions. I ran into her outside her doctor's office, a doctor I became aware of during the course of my liaison with the Twenty-seventh Precinct. Inspector Thatcher came to ask me for my discretion in the matter later that evening. I offered to teach her Sensate Focusing Techniques. I assumed I could maintain my professionalism afterward, but it hasn't been the case.” Ben seemed to slump, if just a fraction. He had every right to slump.

“So basically you spent a week in a hotel room with the Ice Queen bein' all touchy feely?” Ray asked, still trying to wrap his head around the image of Fraser and Thatcher in bed.

“It was more complicated than that, Ray.” Ben corrected him.

“Yep, touchy feely.” Ray and Welsh said in unison, turned to look at each other.

“Good heaven.” Ben let out an exasperated breath as he massaged his temples. When he looked up Welsh and Ray had appropriately contrite expressions on their faces.

“Constable, the way I see it you've got two options; a transfer so you two can be together or do things under the table.” Welsh laid it out plainly.

“A transfer?” Fraser felt his gut tighten. Chicago, for all it's flaws, had become his home.

“There might be another way, Fraser, we just ain't thought of it.” Ray tried to be positive for his friend. He didn't want him to move.

“Yes, hopefully.” Ben stood up again, shaking off his self-pity.

“Hey, what's the hold up in there?” An angry shout and loud knocking brought the three men out of their reverie. Ray flipped the lock and opened the door. Four uniformed officers filed in, all looking desperate.

“I should be going, I told Turnbull I wouldn't be long.” Ben and Ray walked back to his desk.

“See ya later, buddy.” Ray clapped him heartily on the shoulder, as close to a comforting hug as he would give him at the precinct.

“Have a good day.” Ben collected his Stetson and found Diefenbaker curled up asleep under Frannie's desk. The Civilian Aide waved her passionately pink lacquered nails at him flirtatiously. Transferring would mean he wouldn't have to worry about the determined Italian chasing him anymore. That was the only bright spot Ben could see to the whole situation.

“Good afternoon, Francesca.” Ben tipped his hat and lead Dief out into the afternoon sunshine. He wasn't any closer to solving his problem than he'd been when he arrived. Some days it just didn't pay to get out of bed, and his bed had had Margaret in it that very morning.

***

Meg waited around the consulate until after Constable Turnbull's shift ended and he'd left for the day. She had replayed last week in her mind, every touch, every conversation, every kiss. The kisses hurt the worst. She couldn't turn off the memories. Ben had said he wanted to be her friend, that he trusted her. Part of her felt glad that she'd read the letters while another part told her she'd known how he felt all along. She also knew what he'd chosen to write letters to her, never intending for them to be read. Rules and regulation, expectations, they'd all stood in the way. The man hadn't been able to make himself shoplift candy. How could he push aside the rules to have relationship with her?

Now they were back at the consulate, back in a rut. Meg wanted to scream, to shatter the windows, the walls, the gap between them. Instead, she worked up the nerve to walk down the hall and knock on Fraser's door. She heard the sound of typing stop.

“Come in.” He called.

Timidly, Meg turned the knob and pushed the door open. Fraser stood up as she stepped inside. He wore a perfect, emotionless mask. It amazed Meg, he didn't look like the caring, funny man she'd shared a hotel bed with only hours ago.

“Inspector Thatcher, how may I help you?” The Mountie enquired flatly.

“Ben, don't be that way.” Meg's voice edged toward pleading.

“What way would you have me be, Inspector?” His jaw clenched a bit, his eyes dark.

“Sensible.” Meg clenched her fists. “Were we really so out of character last week?” She leaned forward, fists braced on the desk.

“According to RCMP regulations, fraternization between superior and subordinate officers is strictly forbidden. I have sworn an oath to uphold both the laws of Canada and the regulations set down to govern the Force.” Fraser spoke through clenched teeth. How could he tell her that he was one key stroke away from finishing a transfer form? The thought of leaving her in Chicago made him sick.

“Damn all of that, they don't know what they're talking about. I took that same oath.” Meg pounded her fist against the desk, her voice rising. “There has to be a way around it.” She'd read the regulations for a loophole, there weren't any.

“I'm afraid there isn't, Inspector.” The sadness in Fraser's voice was the first emotion he'd shown so far.

 _“I can't believe I'll never be able to touch him again.”_ Meg thought to herself, standing up, arms crossed, suddenly cold to the bone.

“This isn't over, Constable Fraser, not by a long shot.” She vowed aloud, her dark eyes full of determination.

“If only it were that simple, Margaret.” Ben shook his head as he watched her march out of his office.

***

 


	16. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Supper short chapter but it felt finished when I was done.

_**Monday Evening ….** _

Meg holed up in her office for the rest of the day, working until after dinner before making a dent in all the paperwork and phone calls she'd missed. She'd dove into her work, trying to keep thoughts of Fraser chased away. There were some wounds that time wouldn't heal, losing Fraser would be one of them. He'd healed her of one wound and torn another open to replace it. Meg wished she'd never agreed to let him help her. They'd gotten close, closer than Meg had been to anyone in years. There were few, genuine friends in the Force, especially for an up and coming female officer. Meg had kept her emotions close to the vest her whole career. A million times over Fraser could have sabotaged her first command posting. He'd only done his duty to the best of his ability. He'd allowed himself to be used when Henri Cloutier had leered at her. Fraser was constantly admonishing Ray, both of them, about calling her 'The Dragon Lady'. Red suited her, flowers, and a million other things had told her that her subordinate officer was more than just any man.

Finally ready to quit, the Inspector stood up and stretched her limbs to loosen them. She gathered the paperwork she could finish at home and made her way out of her office. Looking up the hall, she noted that Fraser's home/office was dark, the door closed.

“He's still avoiding me. Maybe he's right, we should keep things professional between us. I stink at relationships, I'd end up hurting us both.” Meg muttered before sighing. She turned and let herself out of the consulate. It had been a hell of a Monday.

***

Ben heard Margaret's footsteps in the hallway, the door open, close and the sound of her key in the lock. In stealth mode, he crept out of his home/office and slipped into her office. His light eyes had plenty of ambient light to navigate by. The security light outside slipped through the blinds behind her desk, giving him light. Quickly, lest he lose courage, Ben slipped the transfer papers into the fax machine and punched in the number for personnel in Ottawa. He watched as the papers feed through the noisy machine, each centimeter putting him farther from Margaret. The nearest opening had been at the American/Canadian border, four hundred plus miles from Chicago, but at least they could see each other. It wasn't permanent, that's what Ben kept telling himself.

The transfer papers slid out into the tray at the bottom. Ben collected them and slipped back to his office. When he flipped on the desk lamp he saw his father standing at the foot of his cot.

“You've done it, you've made the decision to leave the city.” There was a little sadness in the old ghost's tone.

“Yes, I have.” Ben said defensively.

“The Yank will miss you, he won't be able to do his job without you you know.” Robert Fraser's white brows lifted as he spoke.

“Ray will be fine, he was a fine officer before he met me, he will be again after I'm gone.” Ben sat down in his desk chair. He hadn't thought of Ray's reaction to his transfer.

“I'll have to take your word for it.” Robert shrugged, his hands clasped behind his back. He'd stood that way for as long as Ben could remember. The younger Mountie found himself standing in that same position more often as the years slipped past.

“I had to, Dad, I couldn't let Margaret go, not again.”

Robert knew he wasn't the only old ghost in his son's life. There would always be the one that got away, the one who'd jeopardized not only Ben's life but his heart. There would always be Victoria Metcalf. Robert knew he could have done something to help his son cope with losing her the first time. If he had maybe she wouldn't have gotten away the second time, perhaps things would have happened differently. The rock hadn't been thrown so he would never know the ripples' effects.

“I know, son, I know.” He nodded, his light blue eyes shining with unspoken pride.

“Did I make the right decision, Dad?” For a moment Ben's voice sounded so young. Robert was transported back more than twenty years, to when Ben had been a small boy asking if he'd done something right or wrong.

“I don't know, son, but if I had it to do over, I'd have transferred to where your mother would have been safer.” A razor sharp edge rose in the old man's voice. He rarely spoke of his wife's death, as if speaking of it would somehow make it happen all over again. Ben simply nodded, not wanting to stir up pain for either of them.

“Have you told the Yank yet?” Robert changed the subject.

“No, I plan on telling him as soon as the transfer is approved.” Ben dreaded telling Ray more than telling Margaret. She would see the benefit of the transfer, Ray would feel left behind and possibly betrayed. Ben stared at his desk blotter, his mind a million miles away.

“Best of luck on that one.” Robert shook his head. The Yank could be sensitive at times. He was glad Buck Frobisher, his old partner, hadn't been that way. Their partnership had felt like an eternity at times even without that.

When Ben looked up his father had left, disappeared into the aether.

“Goodnight, Dad.” The younger Mountie whispered into the dim office corners.

***

 


	17. Chapter Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter. I'd like to thank all those that have read this story and posted review. I very much appreciate your continued reading. TYK

_**Tuesday Afternoon ….** _

Ben stood beneath a gloomy sky wondering if the weather forecast for rain would prove correct. He stared at the church down the street opposite him, watching people come and go, hardly giving the old building a second thought or look.

The sound of the consulate door didn't phase the Mountie, it opened and closed a dozen times a day. Meg's heels thumping quickly on the cement did however penetrate his keen ears. He hoped she'd hurry past him, avoiding him as he was her. Ben was surprised when Thatcher stopped, peering up at him, her dark eyes squinting and her lips in a tight line.

“How dare you!” She hissed at him, her arms crossed over her chest. She wore the cream suit that gave her an ethereal look when the sun back lit her figure. Ben watched the breeze from the cars stir her dark locks. “I can't believe you went behind my back to send in this transfer.” She was so angry she shook. “Do you want away from me so badly that you would transfer hundreds of kilometers away? How is that professional?” So far her voice had been low and even, her eyes sparkling with anger. “Damn it, I'm not asking you to sweep me off my feet like some silly, fairytale princess. I never expected you to propose marriage.” Meg waved a copy of the transfer papers at him, her other fist clenched. “I found this this morning, I've been working all day to undo this. I should let you go, I should let you spend the rest of your career standing at a border crossing booth freezing your ass off, asking people the nature of their visit to Canada.” Margaret paused, pacing in front of Fraser for a moment. “I knew that if I brought this up to you in my office you'd talk your way out of it. It's a low blow to tell you this on sentry duty but I don't care, I love you, Benton Fraser and you aren't going anywhere.” She stood directly in front of him, their gazes locked, her voice soft, barely audible to anyone but Fraser. “You've broken the rules before for a good cause, that's why you're here in Chicago. I believe that you and I are another good cause. I need a friend more than I need a hero. I can maintain my professionalism and integrity if you can. Are you up to the challenge?” Ben never moved, didn't blink. For a moment Meg thought he'd stand there until the end of is sentry shift without answering. She took his silence as a yes. “Good.” She nodded resolutely, her chin held high and posture straight and confident.

“I sent Turnbull after coffee, you have to get my dry cleaning, you can leave half an hour before the end of your shift. I'll be in my office working on next week's duty roster.” Meg turned on her heel and walked back to the consulate.

 _“Dry cleaning, professionalism, I don't see the correlation but I'm up to the challenge if she is.”_ Ben thought to himself, fighting off a smile of his own.

***

As ordered, Fraser picked up Inspector Thatcher's dry cleaning half. He left half an hour before the end of his shift. She sat with her hear pressed against the phone when he tapped on her open door. Margaret nodded and beckoned him in with her free hand. She pointed toward a chair opposite her desk for him.

“Yes, Sir, I will, I understand. No need to …” With gritted teeth, she hung up the phone, glaring at the infernal machine.

“It's your fault.” Margaret pointed from the phone to Fraser.

“How so, Sir?” Ben asked, watching her expressionlessly.

“You know very well how so, Fraser.” She growled at him, one brow lifted.

“Yes, I think I do.” He couldn't hide his amusement any longer. The Mountie hadn't expected her to pitch a hissy fit and pull so many strings to keep him in Chicago. The fact that she did pleased him to no end. He wouldn't lose her so easily because this time she was holding on in return.

“I could strangle you sometimes you are so frustrating, you know that right?” She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed.

“Yes, you've made that abundantly clear.” Ben wet his bottom lip slowly, Meg's eyes glued to the pale pink appendage.

“You're doing that on purpose, aren't you.” She leaned forward, the corner of her lips pulling, begging to be allowed to smile.

“Yes, I am.” Ben leaned forward too.

“I meant it when I said I need a friend more than a hero, Ben.” Meg's face lost it's coy expression. She felt the old weight of the world returning to her shoulders.

“I'd be honored to have you as a friend, Margaret.” Ben met her gaze, concern in his blue eyes.

“I don't know how much I'll be able to give, I can't ...”

Ben stood up and came around the desk to sit on the corner. He offered her his hand and hesitantly, Meg laid her hand in his palm.

“I'll ask nothing more than you can give if you'll do the same courtesy for me.” His thumb flicked across the inside of her wrist, sending chills up her arm and through her body.

“I can do that.” Meg's smile spread across her face, lighting it up and making her look more beautiful than Ben had ever seen her.

“Then we have an agreement.” Ben nodded resolutely, his gaze never leaving the ocean like depths of Margaret's dark eyes. He knew that they may never be more than the best of friends but that was enough for him if it was enough for her. Margaret was finally happy and whole, that's what had mattered to Ben all along. He'd been prepared to let her go if that had been the best thing for her. For the time being, he wasn't going anywhere though.

 

_A kind heart is a fountain of gladness, making everything in its vicinity to freshen into smiles._

_~ Washington Irving_

 

_**The End** _

 

 

 


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